Same As Hate
by Morgan Morai
Summary: No matter which country she is in, US or Britain, she can't escape her family's lies- lies that protect and condemn all at once. He doesn't want to keep up his parent's charade anymore, but there never was a choice. She is dark, determined, sad and terrified, he is strong, brittle, weary and desperate. They could be arch enemies, but then again...what do they always say about love?
1. Chapter 1

**Same As Hate**

* * *

**Full Summary & Disclaimer: **Rowling's stuff is Rowling's stuff, my ideas are my ideas.

**used to be _pureblood heritage_**

_The stars and constellations were different here. She hated them, hated the same beauty that lied to her the way her family and house lied- we haven't changed, we're the same, this isn't any different from America and if you don't agree or aren't happy you're a picky bitch._

_Same As Hate_ is meant to throw a different light on auspicious wizarding families such as the Malfoys, Parkinsons, and the others that have back story but obviously don't get a lot of lime-light in the Harry Potter series, specifically following two families, the Beaumonts and the Malfoys. The other Hogwarts students couldn't comprehend, couldn't understand what it meant to have generations of your family under Voldemort's thumb and be perfectly unable to do anything about it. _Same As Hate _explores what that kind of life was like through the form of flawed, human, despicable, lovable and relatable four-dimensional witches and wizards.

(This takes place during Harry's 6th year, but isn't going to be linearly perfect especially when it comes to certain characters...)

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Eccentric, foreign, and American were a few of the nicer words used to describe Lady Caprice Beaumont. The meaner witches...well, we won't go into what they said of the sole Beaumont heir marrying a 'colonist.' (Certain purebloods' forgetfulness of the muggle world happenings will be excused.)

But there remained the matter that her husband Angelis _was _the sole Beaumont heir, and the Beaumonts _were _from a line ancient enough to rival the Malfoys and extinct Blacks, and there _was _the levitating Beaumont Castle, charmed to float a whole of three yards off the ground _(not _to make throwing imbecilic children or unwanted guests out any easier.) And the fact the levitation was a spell of which it is said Dumbledore himself could not replicate...yet Caprice remained.

But despite what anywitch and their house elf complained of, not a wand in the elite British wizarding society could deny Caprice's ability to throw a party. (Or 'gala', as she called her balls.) This specific event was to celebrate their homecoming- after spending the past fourteen years in America with their three daughters, Lord and Lady Beaumont (and the levitating Beaumont family castle, of course) had returned to southern England, with Caprice in the capacity of American Ambassador to the new British Minister of Magic. And that, as Lady Caprice would say, constituted most certainly for a gala.

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

"They've been gone for _fourteen years_," Narcissa Malfoy reminded her husband, clenching the spoon in her fist until her knuckles turned white.

"I've already replied," Lucius snapped. "We're going tonight. With Caprice as the new American Witch Ambassador, even the Minister will be there, Narcissa. We can't afford to be seen missing."

"Be seen missing," Draco snorted underneath his breath, chuckling.

"What was that?" Lucius demanded, eying his son dangerously.

Eyebrows raised innocently, Draco coughed out, "Nothing, sir. Just caught something in my throat."

"Use a napkin, for Merlin's sake," Narcissa pleaded wearily. "At least Draco needn't go."

"Yes, please, I-still have lots of Hogwarts homework I need to catch up on."

"Nonsense," Lucius dismissed. "The boy's friends will be there." At that Draco's face perked up, though imperceptibly.

"But..._'Muggle Dress Optional'_," Narcissa hissed, repeating part of the invitation.

Lucius shrugged, bring the spoon up to his lips. "They did just come from America."

Narcissa's face turned pale with suppressed anger. "I will _not_ have my son parading around like a common _mudblood._"

"He's my son, too," Lucius reminded her mildly, "and I had no intention of 'parading' him so demeaningly. He'll wear wizarding robes, just like us."

"Oh." Narcissa deflated like a balloon.

"We'll Floo there at 10 o'clock precisely," Lucius finalized.

* * *

Guests arriving in carriages saw a white castle with earthy-green turrets and roof, settled among the high hills like an old, stately queen reclining on her throne. From the open windows on all floors and out into the warm summer air came twinkling lights and the sound of voices and a full orchestra. Partiers such as the Malfoys who arrived by Floo found themselves stepping out of a roaring fireplace covering the entire wall that could easily fit several families, but emitted very little heat into the costly, packed drawing room.

Two entire floors of Beaumont Castle were covered in guests, which was saying a lot. The strings were placed around the magnificent staircase without hindering the movement of the ball-goers who came to greet the Lord and Lady who were situated on the bottom step, for the gala of the year.

* * *

The first time Medea Beaumont danced with the Malfoy boy, her sister Esrea _accidentally _stepped on the skirt of her older sibling's red gown. It tore from her knees-down in an agonizingly loud, dramatic manner, right in the middle of all of Britain's wizarding, pureblooded society.

"Oops," Esrea faux-apologized with a simpering smirk the next time their partners twirled the girls near each other in the dizzying Beaumont ballroom. And because it was a line dance and the removal of one girl would have resulted in the loss of one couple, which would disrupt the entire balance and force an end to the dance, Medea was forced to finish the last three minutes with a large, obvious and humiliating tear on her dress.

So what did she do?

She smiled and held her head higher. (No thanks to her partner, who barely offered his condolences.) But that was a show, just like the entire event. It was a relief when line dance was over, an elf mended the jagged rip, and dinner was finally called.

Before Medea could follow the crowd to the food, Caprice caught her daughter's arm harshly and dragged her to an alcove.

"What were you _doing_, young lady?" Lady Beaumont demanded, her beautiful porcelain features contorted in a hissy fit. Without waiting for a reply, she snapped, "do you even realize who you were dancing with? You embarrassed the _entire family _in front of the _Malfoy_ boy."

With a mock-horror look on her face, Medea exclaimed, "holy _Merlin_, Mother, I thought it was the new house elf."

"Medea Imani Beaumont!" Caprice nearly shrieked, using the full effect her heels provided to try and tower over her taller daughter. Said girl raised her left eyebrow and rapped out with an icy clip, "your guests will be wondering, Mother."

Knowing Medea was right, Caprice none-the-less gave her one last glare before storming away in a huff.

No one was there to see the childlike confusion and indignation fly across Medea's face and furrow her brow -but only for a drained moment- before it was quickly replaced by determined steel.

According to wizarding custom, adult women were first seated, then adolescent girls, next grown men and lastly, the boys.

House elves whisked the first plates onto the table- an appetizer of something leafy with a delicious orange sauce. Medea didn't recognize it and was a little disappointed her parents hadn't chosen a more American fare.

Everyone was talking, but thanks to the spell in the house, the sound wasn't overpowering and no one had to raise their voice to be heard by the intended recipients.

"So," the redheaded man on her left spoke up, "you are the young lady of the house, no?"

Medea finally recognized him as the father of the famed redheaded Weasleys.

"Yes sir," she answered politely, spearing a strawberry on her fork and swallowing it.

"I don't think we were introduced. My name is Arthur Weasley- I work in the ministry like your mother. How do you like England?"

He had a kind face and eyes that stayed on hers, instead of straying up and down like most men's did. She appreciated that.

"I've only been back a few days, so I honestly don't know," she said politely. And, just so he wouldn't think her an immature teenager incapable of conversation, "have _you_ ever been to America?"

Arthur shook his head dejectedly. "Sadly, no, but I'll jump at the first opportunity. I have a hard enough time getting home from work, much less traveling to another continent." His blue eyes twinkled pleasantly at her as they talked a bit more before he gave his attention to the demanding witch on his left.

"I can't believe you just spoke to him." The words were from Malfoy, and possibly loud enough for Arthur to hear.

"Talked to whom?" Medea asked politely, automatically keeping the proper enunciation her mother demanded she normally reserved for adults, and those who angered her.

He frowned like she was demented. "That Weasley, of course. I can't believe your parents even invited them." His tone...any attractive features she had seen in him immediately disappeared.

Medea tried to choose her words carefully as she quickly finished off her salad, her temper from the incidents with Esrea and Caprice just barely kept from boiling. "You haven't been to _America_, Malfoy, so you don't know exactly how things are done there. First of all, my parents invite _whomever they choose _into this castle, and secondly, I don't rely on my _mother _to tell me who I may or may not speak to." Here his thick jaw clenched. But how dare he say such things to her face?

"The Beaumont heritage is strong enough for us to not feel threatened by talking to even Muggles, if we so choose," she continued, ignoring his fiercely narrowed eyes, "But, I can see why certain...other...pureblooded families may not feel so...secure...in their position. However, that's not the case where I come from."

"Quite," he managed icily while the sides of his face had seizures.

Although it wasn't quite like giving him a good smack on the face, she could feel a thrill of exalted smugness run down her spine and she studiously turned her attention to her food.

The rest of the courses were served, a half-hour was given to make sure everyone was done and digested, and the true dancing began. With a spell from her mother's wand the tables and chairs disappeared and the orchestra music amplified with a quick, rather brisk waltz.

"So, that's how things are done in America, eh?" Arthur Weasley's eyes sparkled in merriment.

Heat flooded her cheeks and she stared over his shoulder at the dancers. "You heard that?"

"Never apologize for spunk, Miss Beaumont," Arthur admonished. "Have you been introduced to any of the other children? I have a son, and his friend, who will be in sixth year with you this fall."

"Besides Malfoy's group?" Medea lifted her left brow. "Not exactly, but I did dance with a few other boys."

Arthur led her over to a corner filled with his four redheaded sons, their sister, and three other young men.

She was introduced to Percy, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny Weasley, and their friends Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Sullivan Fawley and Ernie Macmillan. Medea quickly assessed they were the Other Group, strictly non-Slytherins, although where they stood in position to Draco Malfoy's snaky clique, she didn't quite know.

"You're the only girl?" Medea asked Ginny curiously, and a bit enviously as well. What it must be like to be the princess of the family.

The girl's cheeks flamed to match her hair but she kept her chin in the air and nodded.

_She's very pretty._

"Nah, Ginny's one of the boys," Ron joked, elbowing his little sister good-naturedly, making the others snort. Huffing exasperatedly, Ginny shoved him into his friend Harry and everyone laughed; the tension was lessened.

"Do you know each other from Hogwarts?" Medea directed the question at all of them by briefly holding each set of eyes. Trying to start a conversation with them was like waxing leg hair.

_Britains._

"No" and "Yes" came out simultaneously.

"Why don't you dance with me and I'll explain it?" the one called Percy suggested stiffly, holding out his hand to her.

"Sure," she responded, and was swept onto the floor.

Percy's attitude was stiff, like the gold tie he wore. He was a decent dancer but didn't have the inborn fluidity of...well, of Malfoy. "My siblings and I have known everyone but Harry Potter our whole lives," Percy explained, enunciating clearly as if she couldn't understand his accent.

"That's simple enough," Medea admitted, meeting his eyes as she spoke. "Is he...the...Harry Potter? The orphan, the one who defeated You-Know-Who?"

"So you know about him in America?" Percy asked, sounding surprised for the first time.

"My parents left around the same time he was orphaned," Medea said, ignoring the jab at her adopted country.

"Oh, I see. And yes, he is."

That would explain why Harry was the only confirmed half-blood on the premises.

"So," Medea prompted, as the dance proved to be a long song, "why don't you tell me about yourself and your family?" Percy apparently became deaf after the 'yourself' part and introduced her to The Life and Times of Percy Weasley for the next several minutes. Prefect, worked with the late Minister, Head Boy, the list went on and on. She couldn't help but wonder what huge flaw Percy hid, that required him to flout his abilities so broadly to a virtual stranger.

From time to time over the evening she caught Esrea dancing in Malfoy's arms, half-snarling, half-laughing at her over his shoulder.

_Perfect couple._

After two hours Caprice contacted her for the first time, instructing her to find Chanalea and any of her friends and take them to a separate room with couches where they would be watched and could sleep, play games or chat as they chose.

The little Beaumont Butterfly was in the middle of the three kids her age, animatedly describing riding a pegasus, something none of them had ever done. Her long yellow curls framed her face, from which shone bright green eyes.

"Chanalea," Medea interrupted kindly, "Mom said dessert for you guys is going to be in a different room, where you can hang out for the rest of the night." At the word 'dessert' she immediately had a following, and silently led them out of the ballroom. In their playroom for the evening, several elf nannies, some of them belonging with individual children, would watch over them. With a softened face, Medea watched Chanalea and her graceful manners as she presided over the dessert-table, allowing anyone who asked second and third helpings and handing everyone napkins.

_She's a good kid._

* * *

She wished they would leave.

All of them.

It was almost four in the morning and even though it was still dark out, Medea could feel the dew in the air as she stood on the balcony.

By this point few were still dancing and most wizards and witches were gathered around in groups playing chess or just simply talking. Still, the atmosphere was stifling.

It had been a success, and Caprice was sure to be happy for the next week or so.

_Enough to keep her out of my hair, anyway._

The metal railing Medea leaned against pressed painfully into her stomach and she shifted uncomfortably, but was too tired to stand on her own.

The stars and constellations were different here. She hated them, hated the same beauty that lied to her the way her family and house lied- we haven't changed, we're the same, this isn't any different from America and if you don't agree or aren't happy you're a picky bitch.

A winged creature flew towards Medea, and just seeing her was enough to make Medea feel like she had been hugged.

_Morgan Morai, where have you been the whole evening?_

A slender, smooth-scaled black bat the size of a kitten beat the air with her wings to halt herself, creating a warm breeze that caressed her familiar's face.

Morgan perched on Medea's shoulder and nuzzled her jaw as an affectionate greeting.

_Bitch, _she thought affectionately, stroking the silky black head with her index finger.

"Medea?" Malfoy. "What is that on your shoulder?"

She turned to face him and Morgan hissed at the boy, arching her ruff aggressively.

Malfoy raised his hands, smirking. "Woah, I didn't mean to startle it."

"It?" Medea raised her left brow. "She can understand you. Draco Malfoy, meet my familiar, my legacy, Morgan Morai."

_Stand down...for now. _Morgan gave him a last huff, relaxed her fur, pulled her wings back in and settled down to keep a slitted eye on Malfoy.

"Your legacy?" He sounded unimpressed. "A bat."

She nodded, scratching an apathetic, wary Morgan along her jaw. "My dad has her mother- and his dad her grandmother, and so on, back up to the very first Beaumont, a celtic Druid. Sort of a first-born Beaumont thing."

"A bat."

She tilted her head with a half-smile. "Morgan's not exactly a typical bat, Malfoy."

_Shall we do a bit of showing off?_

"Draco!" Narcissa's voice wafted out the doors.

Medea waited for him to say goodbye, that it was nice to meet her- the usual. But instead he took a half-step forward and just stared at her intensely, gray eyes searing through black like he could read her mind.

She recognized her body freezing up, heart pumping wildly. What was he going to do? Why was he here?

He turned and left without a word.

As she watched his broad back disappear she remembered to be thankful that Angelis had taught her Occlumency since she was a young child, although she doubted he was skilled in Legilimens.

_Well, that was odd, Morgan._

* * *

**A/N **Well! This is the first fanfic I've stayed with past the first chapter and wasn't totally disgusted with for a looonnggg time. This chappy was rather long and for that I either apologize or welcome 'ya; they won't always be this length. Some of the main recognizable characters may be a bit OOC and I may be off on a few (or a lot) wizarding/HP specific items, and for that I apologize for along with any and all grammatical errors. Let me know what you loved, but more specifically, what you hated and why! :)

And thanks to my beta Ser Serendipity for being willing to go back over this first chapter with me!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

**Thank you**_ to my fantabulous betas, before he exits and Ser Serendipity. I will get you both skirts with pockets, if ever we meet. Better yet, I'll make them myself!_

(oh, and I'm not Rowling. Yet.)

* * *

"Honor Students, listen up!" Principal Patricia Knowles voice was unbecomingly energetic for 7 am in the morning. Though considering the significance of her announcement, perhaps it could be overlooked.

The entire dining room perked up, especially the Honor Students themselves.

"Freshmen with a grade point average of 3.5 or more who signed up to be mentored in the Hands-On Program are listed on the bulletin board with their Junior mentors," Knowles rattled off. "Mentoring is to take place at least one hour each day excluding Sundays and holidays. Individual specifics will be worked out among yourselves..." the annual details were boring and each qualified ninth or eleventh grader itched to run to the bulletin board in the hallway outside and discover who they would be paired with for the rest of the year.

"Who do you think you got?" Chrissy whispered in Medea's ear, trying to be inconspicuous. Knowles rarely punished talkative students, but in appreciation of her lax rules most of the students tried to behave. They'd all seen what she would do to flagrantly open disobedience.

"I have no clue," Medea murmured, keeping her eyes on the Principal.

"Someone cute, I hope."

"Me, too."

A loud "Shhh!" from the girl across the table.

Medea's brain flew off into speculation as the Principal listed the other inane announcements. She'd been working all of middle school to keep her grades up so she could be mentored in ninth grade. Anyone big these days, anyone who had made anything out of themselves after highschool was mentored during 9th grade. Having a mentor meant having someone older, more mature and with more experience under their belt to guide you. It was everything for success, grades, and resumes.

All she could hope was that she didn't get one of those heart-to-heart feely girls who were only interested in relating advice about clothes. She had her mother for the clothes part and Chrissy for the heart-to-hearts.

Then again, she didn't know if her mentor would be a girl or a boy. There were officially two separate academies- Salem Witches Institute and its male counterpart Wizard Preparation, but due to economic reasons during the Great Depression they banded together while keeping their names separate.

"Hello? Earth to Medea!" Chrissy waved her hand up and down in front of Medea's face. "C'mon, we can go check the lists now!" As breakfast was let out, all the ninth and eleventh Honor Students and most of their friends charged out the French doors and into the airy hallway.

"Out of the way!"

"Move your fat butt, Jenkins."

"Who are you calling fat?!"

"CHILDREN!"

Medea and Chrissy were able to forge a path to where they could read the screen.

It wasn't a true bulletin- Principal Knowles was too modern for that. Instead, she had built in a 50 inch flat screen TV charmed to display daily and weekly announcements.

The two girls searched and searched.

"There you are, Chrissy!" Medea shouted to be heard over the rest of the students they were tightly packed against.

"Anna Rushent?" Chrissy sounded pleased. The girl was intelligent, but more importantly, her family had influential business ties. That she had mentored Chrissy would look wonderful on resume.

Finally Medea found her own name, right next to eleventh grader Thomas Carlton. She knew his name, but couldn't put a face or a fact to his name. Not a good sign.

The two girls were pushed out of the crowd.

"C'mon, let's get to class." Medea grabbed her friend's arm and was surprised when Chrissy stood her ground.

"Weren't you listening to anything Principal Knowles said? We have to _consult," _here she sniggered at Knowles' fancy words, "with our mentors and figure out when we're gonna meet." Chrissy looked at Medea like she'd grown a second head.

_Oh! Ooops..._

"Oh, there's Anna, see ya in class Meddie. HEY! ANNA!" Chrissy bellowed, charging off like a bull in the direction of her mentor.

Medea barely noticed her leaving, she was so caught up in trying to spot Thomas while a few of his attributes finally came to mind, now that she was out of the rush of the students and could think. She knew of his family- his parents (or was it his grandparents?) were half-bloods, but that was where she drew a blank.

"Medea." She spun around to see the very person she had been thinking about.

Of_ course,_ _now_ she remembered.

Naturally, she would be paired with the nerdy chess geek. Thomas Carlton was tall and fairly attractive, assuming that you managed to avoid the rumors of asexuality that followed him everywhere he went. But he'd never even been to one of the school dances, he was merely on the Quidditch team, and to top it off, he was just about every teacher's favorite pet.

"Hi Thomas," Medea forced out, as she crossed her arms and stared defiantly up into his hazel eyes. Did he have to be so tall?

He stared at her for a half-second, taking in her unwelcome stance. It didn't seem to phase him. "Medea. When are you free tomorrow?" His tone was level: very no-nonsense.

She hadn't expected that. She'd though he would try to warm her up first, like everyone else.

"Well?" he repeated.

Finally her schedule came back to her. "I have a study break from 1-2, and pegalo in the evenings from seven to nine."

"I'm tutoring during your study break and I have Quidditch practice then one-on-one all evening." Thomas frowned, staring off into space past her. That irritated her. Men usually kept their eyes on her, instead of ignoring her altogether like she didn't exist.

"Well, I guess someone's schedule is going to have to bend," she clipped out.

His gaze came back to her and he half-smiled like she was an amusing puppy, which if possible irritated her even more. "No," he spoke up, "we'll just have to do it in the morning. I'll see you bright and early at-"

"Are you kidding me?" Medea exclaimed, a tortured look on her face. "There's no way I'm getting up before the sun."

Thomas arched his left eyebrow. "You're welcome to lose your GPA, your Honor, your place on the pegasus pony team...or your sleep."

"It's not a pegasus pony team," Medea snapped, but she knew he was right. Something would have to go.

Her face was hard when she asked what time and where he would expect her in the morning.

"How about the library at six?" he suggested.

"Asshole," she muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." Medea tried to wave away the words. Thomas was unconvinced.

He ran a palm across his face. "Look, Beaumont, if you'd rather-"

"I'll see you at six," Medea interrupted, her tone just as level as Thomas' had been. She was angry in general for having him as her mentor, and angry at herself for not being able to contain her emotions.

"Six it is, then."

* * *

Alarm clock set for 5:25.

Roll out of bed 5:31.

Squint at painful bathroom lights while showering, braiding hair and applying minimal makeup.

She donned the uniform black knee-length skirt and tucked-in white polo shirt, situated Morgan (in snake-form this morning) around her neck, pocketed her wand (yes the skirt had pockets; it was fabulous) collected her organized satchel and hustled out of the ninth grade dorm and to the library at 5:58.

Thomas met her on the way in. He was carrying two coffees in a cheap cardboard cup-holder and a duo of large muffins.

"I hope you like blueberry." He was smiling faintly, but it leant an agreeable warmth to his face that told her they still had a chance at friendship.

"No talk," she muttered as she pushed the library doors open. "More coffee."

He laughed and selected a table near the window for them to sit at. "You don't get distracted by windows, do you?" he asked, dumping his stuff in a chair and picking up his coffee to blow on it.

Medea shook her head and copied his movements, relaxing a bit. "Not normally, but I will warn you, coffee makes me rather ADHD at first."

Thomas shrugged. "It calms me down. I actually have ADD, so anything caffeinated works the opposite."

"Do you have to take meds?" she asked curiously. Privately, she had always thought that Chrissy had ADHD.

"Principal Knowles gives me organic potions, actually. They pass out of my system pretty quickly, though, so I usually only bother using them for big tests."

As they talked she got the impression he wasn't really here to dictate to her what she should do with her life. Not just yet, at any chance. It felt good to just sit there in the intellectual library atmosphere and talk with him. To sip coffee and munch on the delicious cafeteria blueberry muffin without worrying if anyone was watching or what they were thinking.

"So what do you want to do with your life?" Thomas finally got around to The Question.

Medea hesitated. Thomas waited.

"I really want to work with magical creatures...healing them and everything, y'know," she finally admitted, waiting for the surprise, then disbelief, then mocking humor. She was Angelis Beaumont's heir- she shouldn't want to have any other life than one filled with endless social appointments, maybe the occasional stop in the Beaumont office. And, of course, Marriage.

Instead he just smiled, nodded his head. "You have a special kind of creature, don't you? A morphus or something?"

A bit perplexed at his reaction, Medea nodded, put down her coffee and pulled a small black snake out from underneath her shirt around her neck. The creature resting on Medea's palm lazily opened an inky eye to stare at Thomas, then, unmistakeably bored, apparently went back to sleep.

"Her name's Morgan Morai," Medea said. "She's not one for mornings. Gets that from me, I think."

"Why magical creatures, though?" He tilted his head back to drain the dark drink.

Medea paused a moment to gather her thoughts, replacing Morgan beneath her shirt underneath her neck. "When I was ten -right before I started at Salem- I was playing in a creek near my house by myself. It was a rather deep, but I knew how to swim. What I didn't realize was it was recently inhabited by an overgrown crawdad. And when I say overgrown, I mean nearly half the size of me. Magical, of course. I stirred its nest up and it came at me with its pinchers- backed me up against a rather sheer creek bank. All I could think of, everything I could see was its pale, beady eyes and those massive claws about to snap my neck in half. I couldn't even scream."

"I must have closed my eyes because the next thing I remember is seeing Morgan as a black bear grabbing it by the tail with her jaws and slinging it away from me. I ran screaming to the house and got my father. We found Morgan and the crustacean- it was dead, and she was caked in blood. Her own, of course. It had snapped her back left leg and took a good chunk out of her side."

"Because Morgan is what she is, she was kept in the hospital for magical creatures. I spent the first night with her and most of every day for two weeks until they let her out. The healers there at the Springfield clinic did a wonderful job taking care of her. Sometimes they would even let me follow them on the more simple jobs. And that was when I knew what I wanted to be."

She finished, feeling a bit drained and vulnerable. It was the first time she had opened herself up to someone other than Chrissy for a long time, and Medea almost wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

"So she's your protector, as well." It was more of a statement than a question.

Medea nodded.

"That's quite a story." He sounded impressed, which was a typical reaction to Morgan.

"What shapes does she take?"

"Anything that can be solely black," Medea answered. "Black bear, black snake, black dragon, black wolf, black cat, etc."

"Why black?" Thomas inquired.

"Damned if I know." Medea covered a yawn, a bit weary of his never-ending whys and whats.

The library doors swung open. "Medea!"

Instantly she put on a smile as she turned to greet her boyfriend; arguably the dishiest tenth grader in school. "Hi, Alex."

He pecked her lips fondly before turning to scan Thomas, brown eyes critical. "What's Carlton doing here?"

Medea forced a slight smile, racking her brain for reason to be with Thomas other than that he was her mentor that would pacify her jealous boyfriend.

"I had a question about pegasus I wanted to ask her." Thomas was the one who spoke up. She almost felt guilty about the flat look on his face, but relief won out.

Alex shrugged. He knew Medea was the expert on the winged horses- it made sense, before he completely shoved Carlton out of his mind. "So, Medea, we never really got to finish anything last night..."

She shoved Alex playfully, totally lost to the fact that Thomas was gathering his things (including her own empty coffee cup and muffin wrapper) and leaving.

"Perv." She twined her hands in his shaggy light brown hair and brought Alex's face close to hers, enjoying the effect as his eyes clouded.

"I don't remember doing anything," she murmured, tilting her head. A slight smile played across her face. "Do you?"

That was when he growled and crushed her to him.

* * *

"When are you meeting with Thomas next?" Chrissy asked, grinning fondly as the pegasus she was brushing leaned into her attention, pleasure etched all over his magnificent body.

"Oh shit," Medea muttered, pausing the circular motion for a second on her ward. The female stomped her hooves in impatience and Medea resumed. "Alex showed up this morning and I forgot..."

Chrissy instantly read between the lines and turned to face her friend in the next stall. "Medea Beaumont, do not tell me you were too busy sucking your boyfriend's face off to ask. What did Carlton say when he told you goodbye?"

Medea winced again, staring at the sleek white coat. If she looked closely she could see the tiny hairs falling to the ground as she ran the brush along Aleia's cowlick.

"Bye, I guess," Medea finally said.

Chrissy moaned. "You, ma'am, are an idiot. How many times do I have to tell you? Alex isn't even that cute-"

"Yes he is!" Medea snapped, thoroughly _over_ her friend's mothering. It had taken her a year and a half to get him, and Merlin and Morgana help her if she was going to lose him. "And you've never even had a boyfriend, so what are you saying, exactly?"

She regretted the words the instant they were out. Chrissy turned back to her pegasus, but in the mirror placed in the stall for the vain creature, Medea could see Chrissy's wide nostrils flare and her eyes flash murder.

"I'm sorry," Medea muttered, exchanging her brush for a comb and turning to Aleia's mane.

"Well," Chrissy said icy-sweet, "that makes everything better. At least I'm not the one constantly worrying each month she's late whether or not I'm pregnant."

Shocked, Medea took a moment to realize it was Chrissy who had just spoken to her that way.

"Well, at least if I do get pregnant, I don't have a religious freak of a muggle grandmother keeping me from an abortion," Medea hissed, yanking harshly on a knot and causing Aleia to kick her none too gently.

Chrissy's brown eyes widened. "You wouldn't!"

"Says who?" Medea demanded flatly. She wasn't in control of the words that came out of her mouth.

"You know what I think?" Chrissy asked, still mad but less furious. "I think you're so effing mad at yourself for being such a socially-conforming bitch this morning to Thomas that you're taking it out on me, because I'm the only person you can trust to not screw your life up for it." She laughed bitterly. "Admit it, you would never let yourself get so worked up at anyone but me."

"Well maybe I _am _a socially-conforming bitch," Medea hissed, pounding a fist against Aleia's hip. The Pegasus snorted in disgust, and her voice turned deadly quiet. "But you haven't had to live your entire life with everyone -including your own damn parents- judging your every move, have you?"

Chrissy rolled her eyes. "Please, Medea, don't act like a wounded toddler. It's so beneath you."

"Or maybe," Medea interjected, speeding up now, "you're just jealous your family doesn't get the publicity mine does."

Snorting, Chrissy said icily, "Medea, _neither_ of us want reporters announcing our every move to the world and you know it. There's a reason we always use secret passageways when we're at your house, remember? Don't tell me you've suddenly turned into a fucking _prima-donna_ like Esrea, for Merlin's sake."

Shocked, Medea had opened her mouth to spit out a flaming retort just as the barn doors opened and another pegalo team member entered to take care of his horse. Narrowing her eyes crossly, Medea shot Chrissy a look, finished her work, and left.

* * *

"Oh my Merlin, did you see what Bea wore to her date with Spike last night?" Laney mocked to the circle of girls who cackled like...well, like witches.

"She looked like a total whore," another girl agreed. "I swear she didn't even have a bra on."

Speak for yourself, Medea thought, eying the skin-tight shirt, but nodded with the pack anyway.

"My mentor gave me all this shit to read yesterday," a different girl moaned, using her hands to signify the thickness of the volumes.

Medea was so busy groaning inwardly she didn't even relieve herself by making fun of the girl (whose idea of a thick book was about an inch in diameter.)

He was sitting over there at the eleventh grade table, on the end (as usual, but she'd never paid attention to him before.)

She knew she had to ask him.

Just not when he was around his few friends, and definitely not when she was with her's.

_Merlin, I hate my life._

* * *

While Mr. Telfair (Fifth period, literature and history) droned on to the freshmen about Ptolemy's wife/sister, (lots of ews and gross) Medea flicked a note to Chrissy, who she was seated next to.

_Sorry for being a bitch_.

C: Why apologize now?

_What?_

C: You don't bother normally.

She clenched the paper spasmodically. That stung. It was something Esrea would say, not Chrissy.

Medea burned it with a discreet, flameless and wordless spell, doing her best to ignore her seatmate and concentrate on Mr. Telfair. Merlin knew how she'd past the upcoming test if she didn't keep up with her note-taking.

Finally the bell rang, and classes were let out early.

Medea gathered her things quietly. She'd apologized to Chrissy and for what? It was Chrissy's fault in the first place for being so uptight about Medea forgetting to say goodbye to Thomas. He was her own damn mentor, wasn't he? Not Chrissy's.

She always did that. Didn't Chrissy get it? Medea'd worked so hard for Alex, for her social life...she couldn't let anyone, _anyone_ take it away from her- not after groveling to her mother so many times for a handful of parties at the Beaumont Castle, just to impress her friends. It had no effect how kind Thomas was- being mentored by him would leech her success worse than Esrea ever could. If she couldn't replace him, then she damn well didn't have to flaunt him around her friends.

A glance out a window as she walked through the corridors to her dorms showed the pasture unusually filled with pegasus.

_Oh shit! They started practice without me!_ Medea picked up her right foot to race to the dorms and slammed it down just as quickly.

There were too many pegasus, first of all...and secondly, they didn't have halters or saddles much less riders...

_The migrating herd... But why didn't Nurse Mollie tell me about them?_ She could see the school nurse/Pegasus team coach walking among the winged horses, offering them feed, but why hadn't she called her pegalo students to come with her?

After dropping her shit off in her dorm Medea stormed outside to pasture, where she saw a few of the other pegalo team members by the fence.

"Why didn't she tell us?" Medea asked Kelly, who she tolerated the best.

Nurse Mollie waved a free hand at the kids, but it was a stay-where-you-are-but-hello wave, not a get-your-lazy-asses-over-here wave.

"She doesn't trust these pegasi." Kelly shrugged, keeping her eyes on the migrating creatures. Different herds touched down at the school every fall on their yearly journey to the Galapagos Islands, where they would winter each year.

"Ass," Medea scoffed. "We have Berlin." The small group laughed- Berlin was the nastiest, most vicious pegasus they had in the stables and dumped whoever was foolish enough to ride him. They wouldn't keep him around, except he was the late headmaster's favorite pegasus. Medea couldn't believe these tame ones could have even half of Berlin's personality.

"I mean, look," Medea gestured, "Mollie's doing fine with them."

"If only we'd gotten here before she had," Calvin sighed, and that was when Medea got a fantastic idea.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kelly whispered, yawning widely as the three- Medea, Calvin and Kelly, slipped out of their dorms.

"Of course." Medea rolled her eyes. "Keep your flashlight steady! The sun hasn't come up yet. And don't drop your buckets," she hissed. Each of them had corn to offer the magical creatures.

The hallways were empty, the entire school silent for the morning light to wafer through the airy academy. Morning was pegasus Time of the Day- so it was the perfect time to meet a potentially grumpy herd.

Outside the air was hushed, as if the whole world was waiting for the sun to come up. Above, stars still twinkled- but more faintly than they had during Astronomy last night.

Gravel crunched beneath the trio's feet as they crossed the school yard and headed to the pasture. Sure enough, seventeen perky pegasi were grazing, all facing east in anticipation of the sun's arrival.

Appropriately, Medea led her friends to meet the herd from their front side, so it wouldn't look like a confrontation. They kept their bodies fluid and relaxed, instead of uptight and ready for a fight.

"What was Mollie thinking?" Medea asked rhetorically as they slipped under the rails and approached the peaceful group with no problem. She'd studied and studied pegasus behavior, and the group was acting just like any other.

They spread apart, moving steadily forward to offer the corn. Medea picked out a particularly vain, beautiful one, and whispered admiring words as she approached it. The creature pricked an ear flirtatiously and shuffled its feet to invite her into the herd.

The instant she was accepted in, the air crackled as if lightning had struck.

And that was when she saw it. Hair raised on her scalp as the blood froze in her body, sending a shiver down her spine.

In the middle of the herd, what the herd was protecting, was a pegasus...cleaning the membrane off a baby.

That's why they had been so weird to Mollie yesterday. They knew one of their members was about to birth very, very late.

That pegasus hadn't been flirting with her.

"Calvin, Kelly!" Medea called, holding perfectly still, trying to keep her voice calm. The winged horses would pick up on her fear like a hound on a trail.

"They're hiding a newborn pegasus. Get out of here." She saw their white, shocked faces on the outside of the herd, saw their instinct to run- an instinct flaming through herself that she could barely control.

"Try to get away!" Kelly called, as she took her own advice. "We're going to get Mollie."

Medea held perfectly still, avoiding all eye contact and especially avoiding the eye of the mother pegasus.

The noise of her friends' feet on gravel made her instinctively watch them run away. That slight movement, and the herd erupted into a whirlwind of movement- a portion split off to surround the mother and baby, while five others raised their wings threateningly at Medea. She was completely surrounded.

_OhmygodI'mgoingtodie_

She tried once last attempt to back cautiously away. She heard the wind rushing through the air and felt the spine-jarring but curiously painless impact as a hoof crashed into her back, saw the ground rushing up to meet her.

One last pegasus war cry echoed through the air.

_I'm dead_.

Medea blacked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

here 'tis! Sorry it's 3 days late, I had a hard time writing it. Big thank you to my betas Ser Serendipity and before he exits

Ain't no JK Rowling round here'bouts.

Without Further Ado:

* * *

"Pansy Parkinson," Medea drawled, face pressed into the picnic quilt, "will you marry me?"

Her masseuse snorted, gently digging fingers into Medea's middle back. "I'll ask my father about it," Pansy promised, drawing a laugh from the group.

"Perfect lesbian couple," Esrea shot back with enough honey in her voice to make her unapproachable.

"Sorry, Pansy," Draco spoke up lazily, "but I think I might know a few blokes who would have a problem with that." He brought his left hand from Esrea's hair to turn the page of his book, _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery._

Medea didn't respond; just closed her eyes and sighed happily, digging her toes into the sand at the edge of the blanket. Salty wind idly brushed her face and the roar of splashing waves convinced her she was in heaven. Or at least back in America on a sunny Virginian beach.

It was nearly impossible to keep from pretending, with her eyes shut, that it was Thomas kneading her tensed back, not a (straight, thank you) girl Medea didn't trust as far as she could throw. Or to imagine that the four of them really were on an American beach. Hell, it'd be a lot warmer, for sure.

Approaching footsteps brought Medea's eyes open again. Chanalea had been running up and down the beach collecting shells, and she had two full buckets to show for her efforts.

Medea couldn't help the small smile that kissed her lips as she saw the blond curls flapping in the wind, creating a halo around Chanalea's content, bright face as she struggled with the large beach buckets.

Snagging her wand from the plate at the center of the blanket, Medea pointed it at her sister's buckets and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa."

Chanalea grinned and took a hand from the bucket's handle just long enough to wave energetically at her big sister. "Thanks, Medea!" she called, shouting to be heard over the wind, and skipped down the rest of the beach.

Medea replaced the wand on the table and sat up, as Pansy's hands were numb.

Their parents (minus Medea's father Angelis, who had been drawn away by a business trip springing up at the last second) were seated partway down the beach on a similar quilt, dutifully oohing and awing at Chanalea's collection.

"So, who's playing who at this Quidditch match tomorrow?" Medea asked, drawing figures on the sand.

"Puddlemere United and Holyhead Harpies." Malfoy didn't even bother to look up from his book.

The Malfoys had box tickets, of course, and had invited the Beaumonts and Parkinsons to spend the weekend and see the match together.

"The Harpies are an all-girl team," Pansy said around the cookie in her mouth.

"Which means Puddlemere'll trounce royally," he announced smugly.

"Are they really that much better?" Medea asked, a bit more antagonistically than she had intended.

"They're men."

"Pansy?" Medea asked, ignoring Malfoy's chauvinist answer.

"They both have a pretty fair chance," Pansy admitted, glancing at him. "The Harpies are fierce but Puddlemere's strong. We'll just have to see tomorrow, won't we, Draco dear?"

"Just be prepared to dig into your pockets," Malfoy said, referencing an earlier bet.

Seriously. Who cared this much about _Quidditch? _It was kind of hard for Medea to compare Britain's Quidditch mania to America's Pegalo frenzy.

_Which is stronger? _she wondered curiously, picking at the stitching on the blanket. Medea laughed to herself: the sudden image of two armies on a battle field, each roaring for their respective game, had slipped into her mind. Blame it on withdrawals of her favorite sport.

"What's so funny?" Esrea asked. She was laying down close to Malfoy, but had tilted her head to watch her sister. Her eyes were unfathomable.

"What?" Medea asked, face composed again. She wondered if it was possible for Esrea, with her strapless, incredibly low-cut dress, to look more like a whore. Especially as her little sister was giving Malfoy the benefit of the view, even if Medea never caught his eyes straying from the printed words.

"You were smiling," Esrea pointed out darkly. "Did Thomas finally write you or something?"

"Thomas?" Draco asked, finally bothering to tear his eyes from his book and scan Medea's face with those cool silver eyes. That irritated her for an inexplicable reason.

"This boy Medea used to pine over in America," Esrea piped up smugly.

Irritated suddenly became infuriated.

"Such the gossip queen." Medea shrugged it off nonetheless. "Thomas was a good friend, Essy." She purposely used the hated nickname. "And yes, he's written me, so I'm sorry if none of your old friends have bothered." The truthful blow hit home and Esrea scowled.

"It must be hard," Pansy spoke up quietly, "having to leave all your friends and everything."

Medea shrugged again. She didn't need nor want Pansy's pity.

"Medea really only had two friends to leave behind," Esrea spoke up again.

_Merlin, _her attempts to derail Medea were so pathetically obvious! _Can't they see that? She's acting like a twelve-year-old._

"Hey," Medea said calmly, "I'm going to go swimming." Her face did not betray her thoughts.

"I'm coming, too," Pansy said. The girls helped each other slip out of their cover-ups, discarding them carelessly on the blanket, and raced each other to the water.

* * *

It wasn't his idea to invite the Beaumonts to the game, but he understood his parent's need to impress the American wizarding family. Hell, he _was_ here, wasn't he, even if his nose was buried up a book?

"So, Draco," Esrea spoke up, flipping over on her stomach. It made her shirt gape open even more, but he could hardly care. It took more than a _girl_ to captivate his interest. (Exactly what kind of girl could captivate him still hadn't been proven, but he had no interest in dating the shallow, overly groomed pureblood teenagers his parents threw at him.)

"So, Esrea," he mimicked when she didn't finish her sentence, more than a bit occupied with his book.

(The Augmenti spell originated from Muslim wizards during the Crusades? Fascinating.)

"They don't have...chaperones at Hogwarts, do they?" she asked innocently, tilting her head as she looked up at him beneath her long, dark lashes.

_Seriously?_

"Prefects patrol the corridors at night," Malfoy said. "What about at Salem?"

Esrea smiled coyly. "We have dorm mothers who check in on us. That's about it."

"I'm sure Medea took advantage of that." Draco couldn't help saying it, her smug reaction was so amusing. Hell, why shouldn't he play with her? She was blatantly asking, practically _begging,_ for it.

He tossed the shut book aside (his place marked, of course) and flipped on his side to stare down at her.

She _was_ beautiful, really. In an innocent, fragile-looking way, so different from the more exotic, wild attractiveness that was Medea's. Whereas the oldest girl's eyes were dark and smoldered when she wasn't paying attention, her mind off in the clouds, Esrea's were cornflower blue and sweetly mild like the sky on a clear day. And under her skin was merely playful youth, but swirling beneath Medea's he could sense power, purpose, ambition. And yet... there was a darkness, a certain coldness, that simultaneously repulsed and intrigued him.

A squeal from Pansy woke his head from his reverie.

"Is she your girlfriend?" Esrea asked, indicating the girl with the cropped dark hair. She was cringing: the ice-cold ocean had surprised her. Draco knew that when she came back she would be covered in goosebumps.

"Pansy? No," Malfoy dismissed. Esrea seemed satisfied with his answer.

"What about you?" he asked, playing along. "You leave any heartbroken guys back in the States?"

She smirked, a tiny, malicious grin, like a piranha or some kind of eel. She was obviously pleased with his question.

"Hardly."

* * *

She didn't understand him.

That annoyed her.

As she splashed in the salty, freezing waves, truly enjoying herself for the first time in weeks, Medea found her benumbed body couldn't keep her from trying to figure Malfoy out.

That look he had given her the night of the ball- even just remembering it, she could feel the volts of electricity his eyes had shocked through her. It unnerved and, to be honest, rattled her just a bit.

Because she couldn't figure out his game.

When he had greeted her family yesterday afternoon, he'd barely glanced at her. Even now, when she was at her most physically "vulnerable" (as if) in a sports bikini, she couldn't feel his eyes on her. In fact, out of the corner of her own eye, she saw quite clearly he was taken up with her little sister.

It wasn't that she was jealous of Esrea. It was just that Esrea was a whore and obviously wanted to embarrass her entire family. And, apparently, Malfoy was one of those guys who would happily oblige.

Spitting out the horrible-tasting water and starting butterfly-laps, she found herself a bit disappointed. She had almost, just for a bit, wondered if he was made out of a different caliber than the rest of the purebloods. She'd thought she intuited depth and character underneath his icy facade, and the same distaste for the people around him as she had- and though he hadn't _entirely _disproved her, the fact that he was giving Esrea more than the time of day could easily disabuse her initial ideas.

Oh well. It was rare for her to find an interesting boy, (especially one her own age) and even rarer for her to not be eventually disappointed with his conforming conduct.

She put Draco Malfoy out of her mind and turned to enjoying the waves with her new ally, Pansy.

* * *

"And how did my little sorceress enjoy herself at the Quidditch match?" Angelis' hazel eyes twinkled down at Medea, who scoffed gently at his condescending pet name for her uniquely.

"Boring as hell." She continued thumping the slipper against her heel that hanged off the settee she lounged on.

Angelis half-smiled sympathetically. "Just not quite like Pegalo, hm?"

Medea shook her head, sipping on orange juice. "Don't know how you ever survived on just Quidditch, you Hufflepuff you."

His features twisted in a smile. "So they told you I was in the badger house, eh? Not very impressive for me, but then again, I've changed a lot from that gangly eleven-year-old. You'll do better, I think." Medea couldn't help the glow that settled in her at his unusual words.

She enjoyed the mornings after he returned from a business trip. 'Early risers' was their exclusive title (a new thing for her, actually) and to Medea, it signified the few times Angelis would actually parley with her, the way a father should with his nearly-adult daughter. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a morning bird or that no one else was around, but he almost seemed as if he...enjoyed being around his eldest that time of day.

"What did your mother think of the Malfoy's peacocks?" Angelis asked merrily through a mouthful of sausage. Her father usually put a lot of emphasis on decorum at the table... unless it was just the two of them.

Medea snorted, remembering the pallor on Caprice's face the first time she heard one of the birds shriek.

"She mentioned something about sticking to bushes and trees for ornaments," Medea admitted wryly. She herself wouldn't have minded one of the exotic birds. There was something ghostly and fascinating about the white ones.

"I remember Lucius as a twelve-year-old, arsed that Dumbledore wouldn't let him take his bird to school."

She was surprised. "You knew him?"

Angelis shook his head. "Not really. He was a year ahead in Slytherin, I was a Hufflepuff. He might've hexed me a time or two, though, but I always got him back." His face slipped into a smug smile at his daughter's laugh.

The conversation drifted off and Medea caught herself anxiously twisting the cup between her fingers, trying to bring up the topic and avoid it at the same time. Carelessly she twisted the glass rather sharply and it fell from her hands, bouncing off her chest, splashing orange juice everywhere and shattering on the ground.

"Got butterfingers, have ya?" Angelis asked, lazily Vanishing the mess.

"Thanks," she muttered, resorting to chewing the inside of her lip.

"Dad, I..." At her serious tone his face swiveled to hers, eying her carefully.

"Everything going alright?" he asked, and they knew what he meant by 'everything.'

"It's just...once we're in school, how will I..." she trailed off, knowing he'd finish her sentence.

Angelis hopped off his chair and strode forward to take her hands. She sat up so she could see him clearly.

"Medea, you know how important it is," Angelis said, staring up at her solemnly and his voice was low with importance. She nodded her head.

"You are a brilliant witch...just like your mother." As if he hadn't meant to say that last part, he continued faster, "I have every confidence in you and your abilities. You'll be able to find a way and you'll keep it confidential." He slowed down. "Just remember the consequences if you don't, and that will hold your resolve."

Medea nodded again, this time a bit more firmly. She felt weak for her hesitancy, her needing to be confirmed, but at the same time she craved it from him.

Patting her cheek fondly, he asked, "when's the next time?"

"Today, actually," she admitted. "I'm just waiting for the right time."

"Well," Angelis said, standing up and brushing off his knees, "best get to it while she's sleeping."

* * *

Medea climbed the stairs to Chanalea's bedroom, casting a Cloaking charm tweaked by her father to ensure she would be unobserved. Peeping inside her sister's door, she saw the angel asleep on the bed and entered the room, locking the door behind her.

The Beaumont Butterfly was spread out eagle-style, her blond curls mussed and splayed all over her pillow. Pert little nose. Golden lashes against her creamy cheekbones. Innocent.

Inhaling deeply, she brought out her wand, pointing it at Chanalea.

Her hand trembled, and the wand with it.

_Resolve, _she demanded silently.

"Imperius," she whispered aloud.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Rowling owns HP (why do we even bother to say it over and over and over again?)

I have fabulous betas :) Ser Serendipity and before he exits. The former went over the first chapter with me, the latter knocked my head against the door for the first drafts of this particular chapter. Thank you BIG TIME to both.

* * *

Chrissy was mildly perturbed to put it...mildly, when she drew Medea's bed-hangings back the next morning and realized her friend was missing.

"WE HAVE CLASSES IN TWENTY MINUTES AND _I HAVEN'T HAD BREAKFAST,"" _she bellowed at the few girls left in the dorm room, _"WHERE THE FUCK IS BEAUMONT?!" _They knew when Chrissy called her friend 'Beaumont' she was _really _in an attitude.

The dorm mother chose that point to come in, a bit pale-faced. "You haven't heard?" the mousey senior asked Chrissy.

"Heard what?" Chrissy snapped, already knowing the answer. Medea had been caught in Alex's bed, pity-partying and bitching after their fight yesterday, and was facing expulsion.

_Girl, get over yourself already. I wouldn't have been friends this long with you if I could hold a grudge._

So Chrissy had to ask the dorm mother to repeat herself when the 12th grader told the room.

This was understandable, because the news that Medea had been transferred late last night to Massachusetts' Wizarding Medical Center was not what Chrissy was expecting to hear.

* * *

"She coded twice last night," an ashen-faced, sleepless Nurse Mollie told a weary but alert Principal Knowles, picking at her lips as they stared at the bed Medea had been stabilized in late last night before they could transfer her. "I don't know how I pulled her through it."

"I've informed her parents," Knowles replied, arms crossed. "They should be at the hospital sometime today." Her voice exposed how utterly exhausted and burdened she felt, far beyond what showed on her youthful face.

"And you told them...how serious it still is?" Mollie asked. Knowles must have nodded because they went silent.

The eavesdropping Chrissy tried to compose her features as she widened the cracked door and stepped through it into the infirmary.

"What happened?" Chrissy demanded. She wasn't sure how she got there but suddenly she was in front of the adult women.

"Miss Jasper," Nurse Mollie sighed. "You really should be in class." But she didn't sound too stern.

"What happened?" Chrissy repeated, mouth going dry. "Why is she in the hospital? Nobody told me anything."

Mollie and Knowles exchanged a look.

"She was attacked by the migrating pegasus herd," Mollie spoke up. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Did she say anything to you before she snuck out last night, Miss Jasper?" Knowles asked.

Chrissy shook her head. "No, and I wouldn't have let her go if I'd known. Stupid, stupid idiot," she muttered. And then, louder and with confidence, "is she going to be okay?"

Chrissy was worried about Medea. But at the same time, she could not help the feeling that this was rather normal. Pegalo related injuries were not exactly uncommon when it came to Medea.

Both legs broken from a nasty fall?

No problem, Medea would be out of the infirmary in a day or two.

Sick with the flu and up all night with an even sicker pegasus?

She'd be out of Mollie's hair in ten minutes after a quick Pepper-Up.

Awful cramps and magical exhaustion (strangely common around 'that time' for her) AND finals?

"I'm fine, Chrissy, we need to leave Mollie alone."

So when Chrissy didn't get an answer to her question after several long minutes, she was petrified.

"This is my fault," she said, her voice coming out strangely weak. "We fought yesterday. She was mad. She would've listened to you just like everyone else and kept away from the herd, Nurse Mollie, but she was mad and she had to blow off steam." She squeezed her lids tightly, not to keep off any tears, but to shut the accusing expressions she knew she would see on their faces.

"Chrissy," Knowles said gently, stepping forward to rub a slender hand against the girl's shoulder, "we don't blame you at all. Medea is strong-willed and Kelly and Calvin...well, they've always been rather susceptible to her direction."

"This had nothing to do with you," Mollie confirmed, and at last Chrissy opened her eyes again.

For a few minutes they just stared, seeing everything but taking in nothing.

"When can I visit her?" Chrissy asked softly. It seemed a crime to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the infirmary.

"I don't know," Mollie admitted. "She was paralyzed. Thank Merlin and Morgana she's in a wizarding facility and she isn't magically exhausted right now, but she's not even conscious. She wouldn't recognize you even if you were there, Chrissy."

Silence. Then, "she sent Morgan yesterday morning, before all this happened, to her parents with a letter," Chrissy said bitterly. "When Morgan gets back, she needs to be with Medea."

"We'll see what we can do about it," Mollie assured. "That's a good idea."

"You'll let me know if...anything happens?" Chrissy asked, suddenly unable to bear staying in the solitude of the infirmary.

They agreed, and she left for her classes.

* * *

Outside of Study Hall later that day, she found Thomas waiting for her.

"Hey," Chrissy said awkwardly, balancing the books in her arms.

"Is she going to be okay?" Thomas asked, an appropriate amount of concern etching his face. Not that she really knew him, but Chrissy was kind of surprised he was being so nice about it all. Medea had been a bitch to him.

"I don't know," Chrissy admitted, trying to keep her mask on so he wouldn't see how desperate and terrified she was about it all. All day long she had heard nothing but "Medea-this" and had wanted to hex each uncaring-person's face off, but intuition told her Thomas wasn't like that. He wasn't just asking for the sake of being on top of the latest gossip. He seemed like he truly wanted to know.

"I heard Nurse Mollie and Principal Knowles talking this morning..."

Her voice broke and she shifted her books to put her hands up to her face to hide from him, and- Morgana, was she_ crying?!_

"Are _you _okay?" Thomas asked, shifting uncomfortably. Poor guy.

Angrily she swiped her sleeve across her eyes, nodded vigorously and gave a shaky laugh. "God, Thomas, you sure have one hell of a mentee."

A smile cracked across his face and he was obviously relieved he wouldn't have to deal with a sobbing girl on his hands. "Tell me about it."

An awkward silence. Should she apologize to him about Medea? Would that offend his manly-pride?

"Hey," he said, "when you see her again and she's feeling better...tell her this doesn't get her out of our study sessions, okay?" The twisted grin on his face was slightly-shy and mostly adorable.

"You bet," Chrissy promised, feeling remarkably better.

* * *

"I'm not a squib, I'm a Muggle, I swear," she exclaimed, tears leaking out of her eyes as the Cruciatus wracked through her body.

"You're a squib!" It was Alex leaning over her, his face twisted vengefully at her.

"I swear I'm not, I'm a Muggle, I swear I swear I swear," Medea gasped. A blinding-hot flash of pain from her midsection and she screamed and howled in pure agony the way she had never before known possible.

"I can't believe I ever dated you, you're a SQUIB!" he screamed, probing her mind with an agonizing claw.

_You're a Muggle, you do Muggle things, you're not a squib, you're not a squib, you're a Muggle, your parents are Muggles_.

Finally the intense, searching presence was gone, taking the pain with it.

She apparated to Hogwarts, where Draco was taking tea with Dumbledore.

_He's too British, _she tried to speak telepathically to the Headmaster. Somehow she had met Dumbledore before, but the details were blurry.

_You can't trust him. Just listen to his accent. _

"Oh, it's you we can't trust," Dumbledore told her merrily, throwing his head back and engulfing the tea- cup and all.

She finally woke, and found herself still mouthing "accent."

When her eyes could finally focus Medea saw her father.

Angelis, hands clasped behind his back, gray business suit and all, looked distraught. Caprice stood next to him, unspoken fury etched all over her face.

"What have you done?" he demanded softly, once he saw her open eyes.

_Am I still dreaming? _But she knew she wasn't. The pain covering every inch of her body was too real.

"Sir?" she asked faintly, having to mouth it several times before the sound came out.

"You have a legacy to uphold," Angelis enunciated clearly. "That _I _need you to uphold. What you did was childish and attention-seeking, Medea."

Tears leaked out of her eyes, unbidden.

"I'm sorry," she said hoarsely, through the fire that was her ribs every time she inhaled to speak. "I didn't know the pegasus would be dangerous."

"You think it's just this one incident?" Caprice demanded, speaking up suddenly and furiously. "You are your father's heir, Medea, but you run around wasting his money and making awful grades and leading your friends on dangerous pixie-chases, for what? So you can end up absolutely useless in the hospital with a broken back?" she scoffed, looking more enraged than Medea ever remembered seeing her mother.

"I'm sorry...?" she managed again, but this time it was more of a pathetic question. Did she have to shout so loud? She had no idea what she was going on about and Caprice _knew _how hard she studied and it was making her head hurt and when had she ever led her friends on dangerous pixie-chases?

"Caprice, darling, would you please-?" Angelis indicated the door. Still in a rage, his wife huffed out, slamming the door behind her. Medea winced.

Angelis sighed wearily. "Medea, I need you- your _family_ needs you to buck up and be responsible. There are things I need to be able to rely on you to do, but how can I trust you?" His tone had degenerated until it sounded just as weak and lost as his daughter's.

"I-I don't..." she managed, before he interrupted her.

"You almost died, Medea," he said flatly. "Do you realize that? If Salem didn't have a state-of-the-art facility and mediwitch, you would be dead right now. Do you know what that would mean for your family?" He was whispering now, staring at her intently. "Do you know what would happen? You have no clue what's going on in the world, do you? The decisions your mother and I are being forced to make. To keep us safe. We need you to wake up, Medea."

"I don't understand," Medea begged, drugged and confused and heart-broken. Nothing was making sense. Everything was moving too quickly: it felt like she was underwater.

Crossing his arms, Angelis sighed. "Your family needs you, Medea. Please, be more careful next time."

She tried to speak again but veiled darkness slid over her and she passed out.

* * *

The morning after she returned to Salem's infirmary from her 11 day hospital exile, the infirmary was flooded with people from all grades wishing Medea well.

Still high on pain potion, she wasn't quite sure what she said or what was said to her. She vaguely remembered Calvin and Kelly's concerned faces over hers, but Chrissy later told her she repeatedly called people sycophantic stuck-up booze-drinkers and shouted incoherently for them to leave her party.

When she was slightly alert (however-many hours or days later) the first thing she recognized was her mentor.

"I brought you your homework," Thomas said matter-of-factly, placing textbooks (charmed to be lighter so she could lift them easily) on the infirmary's bed-tray.

"Oh, God, you've got to be kidding me," she groaned.

"Not a chance."

"Where's Chrissy?" Medea asked, trying not to sound ungrateful. She had been released from the hospital two days ago- but only because of Mollie's care at Salem.

"With her own mentor," Thomas explained, pulling up a chair. "You won't be able to be in class, so I'm supposed to go over the lessons with you-"

"Medea!" Alex burst into the infirmary doors, a dazzling grin on his face for the girl in bed.

"Hey," she said, cringing at the headache his exuberance brought, but accepting the kiss her put on her lips anyway.

"So, I was thinking," he said, turning his back and completely ignoring Thomas, "when Mollie finally lets you out of the infirmary I want to take you on a date. Off campus, y'know? We'll find a way to sneak out and-"

"Alex," Medea said, her voice strained, "didn't they tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Alex asked, the playful smirk still on his face.

"Part of my spine has to grow back," she said hoarsely, "I can't move for months at least."

He drew away from her slowly, a numbed look on his face. "I...I...God, Medea, I'm sorry."

She offered him a weak smile, disappointed at his reaction and that he hadn't found out for himself. That he hadn't already known.

Seeing him reminded her of that awful dream, where he had put the Cruciatus on her. And even though it was just a dream...

"Well, it's not your fault," she said, and laughed forcefully.

An awful, awkward silence.

"I should go," he finally said, and did so. His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floors and the flapping-door _whooshed_ as it swung shut behind him.

Medea finally brought her eyes over to Thomas, and a sudden wave of repulsion for herself and Alex swarmed over her. Morgana, did he have to see that? See her being stood up by her boyfriend?

"You don't have to do this," she whispered, imagining how he must feel about her based on the way she would about him if their positions were reversed. Hell, she wasn't sure what would be stronger- her repulsion or mocking pity.

Instead, his hazel eyes just stared at her steadily. "I don't have anything else on my schedule tonight," Thomas announced casually. Without pity. Or revulsion.

"And it would look bad for me if you dropped out of school." The smile flicking at the corners of his mouth told her he was teasing.

He brought out a sheaf of notes, and balanced his left ankle on his right knee. And then, in that same voice, he said, "So, let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter was a sucker to write cause I was sick and my brain was all fogged and everything, but thanks to before he exits for whopping me upside the head about the first draft. Note To Self: Don't write when you're sick. You write shit sick.

Already working on chappa 5 :) House Sorting time! Any guesses who'll be in who? :3

**OH! AND I ALMOST FORGOT! Medea, Esrea and Chanalea's likenesses are on my profile along with the Beaumont family castle. Lemme know whatcha think :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

I only own my own characters, Rowling has everything else

Thanks Ser Serendipity for beta-ing and to before he exits, who will get to this when she has time :) You guys are awesome.

* * *

_Dear Meddie,_

_Way to go on getting so many A's and B's, or whatever the passing Ow grades are. (Do you think they call them the 'Ow' tests because they're painful?)_

_I actually got a B in Defense (this is where you tone down your surprise) even without you there to tutor me. It was hard. Lots of study. Lots of tears. Lots of pain. But in the end, a 88. And that's a high B! _

_Morgan's in heat? Eww. TMI. What do you even do with her, lock her in a cage? What would happen if she...y'know...got pregnant? Like, what would her babies look like? _

_Merlin and Morgana, that is so weird._

_Not to change the subject or anything...You should feel lucky you haven't started school yet- August's not even over and I'm already up at 6:30 for classes. I should've gone to England with you._

_Meet any hot guys? (This is where I raise my eyebrows suggestively and you giggle, blush ((as if)) and hit me with your pillow. See? We may not be physically close anymore but it doesn't have to feel like that.) _

_I don't see Thomas a whole lot anymore, now that you're gone. Gram's still trying to hook me up with him, it's hilarious. I tried to explain to her that he belongs to someone else- no dice. She weren't havin' noner' it._

_Talk to your parents about Christmas some more. Yell, if necessary._

_Love you and miss you and can't wait to see you again,_

_Chrissy_

* * *

_Dear She-who-is-phonetically-inept,_

_It's O.W.L.s, not OW. Although the result is the same. _

_And I bet if I _HAD _been able to tutor you, you'd've gotten an A++._

_MERLIN! I'm on the way to Hogwarts on the train writing this and Esrea and Malfoy (fine, he's hot) thought this compartment was empty so they could use it for their snog-fest. (New Word: Snog=making out/sucking face. And they say it in the funniest way- 'snauging.' ) I wish you were here to make fun of their accents with me._

_The English countryside really _is _beautiful, in a rural kind of way. I'm probably bound by some International Secrecy Law or something, but Hogwarts is in Scotland. There, send an Auror after me. I shan't protest. _

_You don't mind me using my new English vocabulary out on you, do you? Didn't think so. Although, most of the different phrases we've already heard from Angelis..._

_The Butterfly is in a compartment with a bunch of first-years, ecstatic at the chocolate frogs (new dizz- frogs, made of chocolate. It's disgusting, I feel like I'm eating a real animal because IT SQUIRMS IN YOUR MOUTH. But they taste good...so I'm sending you some) and everyone's adoring attention. She already had a year at Salem because they admit earlier, but here at Hogwarts she'll be with the First Years- a bunch of diminutive little 11-year-olds. She'll blow the socks off 'em, Chrissy._

_Speaking of chocolate frogs, they have the weirdest foods here ohshitpeoplearecomingbye_

"Hullo, I hope we're not interrupting anything?" It was a tall, attractive Asian girl.

"Not at all," Medea responded politely, not even allowing herself the pleasure of clenching her molars. At the same moment, she tossed Morgan a little viciously out of the open window of the fast-moving train. The tiny black familiar disappeared in an instant, off to deliver the letter and package.

The girl made her way in, four friends following behind her. "I'm Sue, and these are Lisa, Mandy and Morag. We're all in Ravenclaw. So you're one of the new American girls?

This time she _did _clench her jaw, steeling herself for a dull, boring rest-of-the-way.

"Yes, I'm Medea." _Now please leave me alone._

* * *

Draco despised Prefect meetings.

Terence Higgs may have been in his own house, but being Head Boy had utterly ruined him.

"Insufferable, pompous git," Pansy leaned over to whisper in his ear, eyes still on the officiating Head Boy. Draco grunted in agreement.

"As prefects," Higgs continued, hands clasped behind his back as he paced up and down in the compartment, "your duty is to ensure the safety of the Hogwarts' students. They are each and everyone of them under your protection. It is an honor, a responsibility, a _privilege_ to be chosen, and I expect each of you to bear your badge with maturity and righteous patience. Be assured," he he turned to face the prefects with a masterly eye, "if there is any taking advantage of this auspicious office, I _will _hear about it, and I _will _deal with it. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Draco said. Every teenager turned to eye him, he could hear some even snorting in anticipation of his joke- but his face was complete earnest. Higgs bought it.

"Very good. Now, about the schedules. Katie?"

With Higgs' back to them as he rifled through papers, Draco felt Pansy shaking silently next to him.

"Yes sir," she mouthed, face lit with mischief. "Very nice."

He wondered how Dumbledore would handle the sorting of the American girls. Chanalea was easy enough, just toss her in with the rest of the first years, but Medea and Esrea were older.

And for some unfathomable reason, his patrol partner for the train was Hermione Granger.

"You weren't very nice to the Head Boy in that meeting," she accused, turning back to face him after shutting the door to an empty compartment she'd glanced over.

"Beg your pardon?" Draco drawled, flicking open a door with his wand.

"Malfoy!" The illegal magic was worth it just to see the shocked, disgruntled expression on her face.

"Granger!" He mocked her shrill, high voice.

"Ten points from Slytherin for illicit use of magic outside of school," Hermione snapped.

"Whatever you say," Draco promised airily, knowing it upset her even more.

"What I was _saying," _Hermione huffed, breaking up a pair of snogging 4th years, "was that Terence Higgs is the Head Boy and under a lot of pressure. He needs the prefects to support him and you _demeaning_ him like that-"

"Granger," Draco said, his voice cold.

"What? _Don't_ _interrupt_ me-"

"What did I say to him?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You said 'yes sir,' but-"

"Then get the fuck out of my face," he suggested casually.

* * *

"Beaumont, Chanalea!"

Medea felt more nervous for her little sister than she did for her own Sorting, but gave an encouraging smile to the Butterfly who looked at her one last time for reassurance before stepping to the Sorting Stool. Her knees shook slightly, but she carried her slight frame regally, the way Medea had taught her.

Chanalea hooked her ankles around the stool legs and the hat went over her head. There was complete, rather interested silence as everyone watched the first Sorting of the year; an American, no less.

There were a few moments that felt like lifetimes while the hat made its decision. It would choose her, right? Even though she was technically an American and had already been to Salem? In her anxiety, Medea could hear her blood roaring through her ears in the dead-silent Great Hall.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The cry was so sudden and so loud Medea started.

The entire castle clapped politely, the Hufflepuffs more enthusiastically and energetically than the rest, of course. Medea even pursed her lips and gave a shrill whistle, grinning at her little sister's pleased, pink face.

The rest of the first years sped by until the space they had occupied had just two girls left.

"Beaumont, Esrea!"

As her other sister mimicked Chanalea's movements, Medea tried to keep the nastiness she felt off her face.

She was beautiful, Medea acknowledged, eying her features the hat didn't cover. Esrea had Caprice's sculpted cheekbones, perfect porcelain complexion, full lips. Her body, though young, was defined in a womanly way and underneath the Sorting hat her eyes were bright and blue.

Beautiful.

She noticed other people acknowledging it, too, especially some 4th year Gryffindor boys.

All of a sudden in her musings, she wondered why the hat was taking so long. The other Sortings, after Chanalea, had been noisy enough- but once again everyone was silenced in curiosity.

A vicious hope blossomed in Medea- maybe her sister wouldn't be able to get in. Maybe she was a _squib-_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Huge, deafening cheers from the gold and scarlet table- and suddenly, Medea felt her heart jump in her chest. It was her turn, now.

The exclamations and the shakings of Esrea's hand as she took her place proudly among the lions died down. Her name was called.

With disembodiment she thought, _Is that really what it sounds like? Bow_-mahnt._ Hm. _

Her features were unreadable and she wasn't shaking, at least. But the walk from where she had been standing, by herself, to the Sorting stool in front of everyone felt like the longest walk of her life. (Minus that one time in Herbology when she'd turned in a paper she knew would receive a Big Fat 'F'.)

As she picked the crusty old hat up off the stool and placed it on her head, a wave of scents crashed over her- distinctly British gardens, spellwork, wands, Quidditch broom polish, parchment paper, ink, the Great Hall itself, and finally it all blurred into an old leather. It was so quick, so abrupt, she almost didn't catch it.

But she did, and it smelled like Hogwarts, and for the first time she wondered if, with scents that good and that comforting, if this wasn't a place she could start over. If Hogwarts wasn't a place she could find a family in.

"Courageous, eh?"

The voice made her jump.

"Just think and I'll hear you." It was high, shrill, and rather comical.

_Like this?_

"Exactly."

She saw memories flashing before her eyes and wondered why she was remembering the first time Angelis had confronted her about Chanalea-

She inhaled a sharp breath. _No! Don't go there! That's not for you, that's not for anyone! _Her normal, rather solid Occlumens skills were brushed to the side as if they didn't exist and Medea started panicking.

_Oh, Merlin and Morgana, what if it tells Dumbledore? I'll be sent to Azkaban!_

"Nothing in your head goes out of it by me," the hat promised. It kept sifting through more memories and she calmed down some, although kept her rigid posture.

"Fiercely loyal, but not really Hufflepuff," it mused. "Brave enough for Gryffindor, eh, but you're a bit more reserved, aren't you? Want a new start, a new life, but you won't find that there.

"You're a brainy bird, for sure," the hat squeaked. "Your head's stuffed to the brim like a Ravenclaw's. (Hmm...now that's a thought...) But not just for the sake of knowledge, now, eh? You want it for power. You're ambitious, you have goals and you strive for them- and, yes, I see it, a bit of a superiority complex there, have we? Tsk tsk tsk, you'll get over that soon enough. Willful. A dash of a heart there, too, but...hm... Extensively familiar with the Darker Arts...hm. Interesting. Sneaky, yes, hm. All right. Better be-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

Chanalea made perfect sense, but he'd admit it, he hadn't seen that coming. _Esrea_ in Gryffindor? Slytherin had made more sense for her, but then again, she was rather obvious about things. Sly cunning didn't really seem her deal (thank Merlin- he hadn't wanted to put up with her in his haven.) And he'd heard over and over again about Medea The Smarty-Pants, (strange American metaphors) so he figured Slytherin would be the American-less House that year.

He wasn't sure to be pleased and surprised, or pissed and surprised when the hat on the girl's head roared out with a loud, echoing, final, "SLYTHERIN!"

She made her way over to the snake table proudly like a queen, and Pansy and Hestia made space for her between them across the table from him.

"Welcome to the House of Slytherin." It was the Bloody Baron who first greeted her, and Draco almost cracked a smile at the frozen, startled look in her eyes before she quickly slid the mask back on.

After the table-buzz had died down for a bit Draco caught her eye. "Congratulations," he said, inclining his head ever so slightly. Beaumont's eyes narrowed infinitesimally before she thanked him coolly, sipping the Pumpkin Juice.

Which she gagged on, handily shattering her recently regained mask.

"Eugh!" Medea exclaimed, barely keeping from spitting it out. "How do you guys _drink _this stuff?! It's _disgusting."_

"Are you kidding me?" Pansy demanded, shooting Medea a disgruntled look.

"Hey, it _is_ kind of nasty," Hestia agreed, and flipped her hair back. Beaumont flashed her a charming grin, one that looked so sincere and warm and was rather rare, but Draco was positive it was a fake because of how quickly she slid it on and off.

Though... maybe he was wrong about it all. Maybe Esrea _did_ belong in Gryffindor, and maybe...maybe, he thought, as he watched how Beaumont won Hestia to her side and ingratiated herself with Pansy and anyone else within earshot, maybe the Hat had made the right choice.

Perhaps Beaumont belonged in green and silver after all.

* * *

Tucking a strand of hair behind Chanalea's ear, Medea bent down to place a swift kiss on her forehead. She smelled like American wildflowers and grass.

"Have fun in Hufflepuff," Medea said fondly. Her back was to everyone else, so she allowed the love to show on her face as she bent down face-to-face with her Butterfly.

"Oh, I've already made lots of friends," Chanalea bubbled, twisting her arms together and bouncing side by side in a way she liked, in a way that made her robes swish around her legs. Like a princess, she had told Medea when she was being fitted for them.

"I bet you have," Medea agreed truthfully, her eyes searing into her sister's green ones. How would this change her? What would she be like in a few days, weeks, months? Would she remember Salem with fondness, or as a passing memory?

Suddenly Chanalea became less bubbly, and more uncertain. "Y-you'll come and study with me sometimes, right? Like you always do?"

Medea felt relieved at her concern. "Of course, Butterfly," she promised, the genuine smile that was only for Chanalea on her face.

The eleven-year-old frowned dramatically. "Don't call me that, Meds," she pouted.

"M'kay," Medea promised with a laugh, straightening back up. She pulled her sister's tiny body close from one last tight hug. Chanalea was so small, it felt like Medea was holding robes, not an eleven-year-old. She squeezed tightly, trying to convey that she adored her, that Chanalea meant the world to her and she would always be there for her little Butterfly; every single thing she felt but didn't have the words to say in any way but the smothering embrace.

From the small face pressed against Medea's shoulder came a muffled, "I love you, Meds."

Medea smiled against her sister's hair sadly, motherly and a bit wistfully, as if she dreaded the day when Chanalea would be too grown up to need this. "I love you too, Channy."

* * *

_Thomas,_

_It's great to hear your Auror training is going so well- top in your class? Wow, I am so surprised. (Hahaha!) You're gonna have to show me at least a _few _cool Auror tricks. Keep me updated on how that's going, especially on your funny trainer. (That's right, don't let him make a teacher's pet out of you! You gotta have _some _friends now you're away from idiotic teenagers!)_

_I'm glad that my magical creatures obsession has rubbed off on you in a good way and you were able to get some extra credit for knowing about the American strand of Three-legged Garliwunkles. Important shit, that. (Sarcasm twice in one short paragraph? Wow. My Slytherin buddies must be rubbing off on me.)_

_And speaking _of _my Slytherin buddies, do you remember Pansy, who I said gave me a tour of Hogwarts and showed me around and everything? She saw me flying the other day and wants me to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team next week. How crazy is that? You must be so proud. Apparently I'm actually something up there in the air, around here, anyway. A broom, even a Nimbus 2000, is not a pegasus, of course, but I guess it'll do around here. (You not jinxing your next letter with any new Super-Auror-Secret-Club curse would be fabulous. To each his own- his own _very decided opinion.)

_Y'know, I was never was allowed to compete with Morgan when she was in her pegasus form because she's different and everything, (actually because she could never be relied on to feel like training, lazyass) but even then, she was so miffed with me the other day for flying around with some friends, on brooms and not pegasus. Then again, she has been kind of hormonal lately, but _that's another topic...

_I'm glad you've been ignoring Chrissy's innuendo about the supposed 'Us.' Especially since I never told her about... I don't think I ever can._

_Hell, y'know, I think I _will _sign up for Quidditch tryouts. I just heard (literally, Hestia's fuming about it to the whole 6th year room from her bed) that Slytherin usually never allows women on the team._

_**HELL YES,** I'M TRYING OUT. _

_Med out. Got some scheming Slytherin-esque plans to...y'know...scheme over._

* * *

A/N: So, whatcha think? :) R&R please! And if there's anything you'd like to see, let me know :) And **Merry Christmas everyone!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

**HUGE HUGE HUGE HUGE HUGE thanks to Ser Serendipity and before he exits - your electronic wrist-slapping is forever invaluable. **

I own my OCs, JK Rowling has evrathing else.

* * *

The days passed by in a pale turgidness, and the groupie visits to Medea in the infirmary became fewer and fewer. Eventually, only the Pegalo team and Thomas bothered to keep Medea company.

Chanalea still wrote her faithfully, of course, but she wasn't allowed to physically come and see her in Salem: something that would have comforted her immensely.

So today, instead of taking strength from her younger sister's adorable company, Medea was stuck studying with Thomas.

"Thomas," Medea ground out through gritted teeth, "who the hell could possibly care less about what the name of the first ship that carried magicals to America was? I thought we were supposed to be going over _history._ That- that's yesterday."

Her mentor arched his left eyebrow at her. "Really, Medea? You sound like an Englishman. Oh wait, I forgot...your father's one." There was a chuckle hidden in his voice. Medea decided she hated him for it.

"This is so _boring," _she whined, thoroughly over the whole studying-thing.

"Not that I'm a huge fan, but we could be at the Pony Polo Open Finals-"

"No," she said hastily, and turned her face away to hide the pain. "It was the Speedwell."

"Very good."

* * *

The day came when finals, and freedom, was a week away.

"She'll let me get up to take them," Medea exclaimed euphorically, a rare grin of excitement lighting up her features and crinkling her face.

"What?" Thomas asked from his chair by her bed.

"Mollie said she could be a human being again," Chrissy announced, prancing through the infirmary doors to her friend's bedside.

"Thanks to you, I've been making good enough grades for them to not feel like I need to repeat ninth grade," Medea told Thomas, suddenly feeling...shy.

Chrissy snorted, plopping herself down in a chair. "What she _means, _is 'thanks for twisting my arm to get me to study.'"

Thomas shot them both his warm grin. "Well, then, Medea, you're welcome. I've got to say, though, I didn't think she would release you in time."

"Well, I've got to go home, anyway. So it makes sense. Can we go over the history part of it again?" She had a renewed burning determination to ace her tests, now that she was allowed to take them.

Thomas' serious-face came back on as he quizzed her. Chrissy dozed quietly in her chair.

"What was the spell George Washington used to conceal the boats traveling across the Delaware on Christmas Day?"

"It wasn't a spell," she corrected. "It was a Charm. The Disillusionment Charm."

"Bravo." Thomas dryly praised. "Why did witches and wizards participate in the Salem Witch Trials?"

"Because the squibs were being burned- not real magicals." She hurried on before he could ask why. "It all comes down to the Lost Colony of Roanoke- the magical community led by Sir Walter Raleigh that rejected squibs as economic leeches and exiled them. In turn, the banished squibs and a few magicals who felt bad for them led a raiding party of Native Americans on the Colony; wiped it out. When the other secretly magical colonists found out, they started the Salem Witch Trials as a way to secretly destroy the squibs, before the squibs could reveal them.

"British wizards and witches who didn't want separatist magicals who wouldn't be under their command traveled across the Atlantic to help the squibs. Benedict Arnold was actually on our side, before squibs threatened to reveal his sweetheart's identity as a witch and forced him to trade secrets to the British government."

"And this squib-magical war ended...how?" Thomas asked.

"Once the American muggles fought off the British muggles, the British stopped funding our squibs and we took it from there," Medea said, "we put them in slavery."

"Which was abolished alongside the racial enslavement." Thomas had that intense, far-off look in his eyes that meant he was somewhere else entirely. "But just like there are still racist infidels in the country- we still hate squibs. The problem isn't over yet, the damage is fixed but we hand down this senseless hatred to our children of anything that's different from us..."

She didn't know what to say to him, how to pull him from his sea of thoughts. He was right, but she didn't know how to communicate her support when he was like this, so distant.

"What's your point?" Chrissy suddenly woke up, or, stopped pretending to snooze.

Thomas' gaze snapped back to her. "My mom's sister is married to a squib. My family turned their back on her- disowned her, blasted her off the family tree. You get the picture."

"Wow," Chrissy and Medea both said at the same time. "And you're not even a pureblood," Chrissy added. "It must be ten times worse in their families."

"Yeah." Thomas paused again, before shaking his head. He seemed eager to leave the topic alone.

"So, let's keep going." He began shifting through his notes once more and continued drilling his pupil.

* * *

"And you'll visit us next week, right?" Chrissy plied Thomas, enthusiasm for the summer holidays dancing across her face.

"I have tickets for the Traveling Spells," Medea bribed, shifting one of Morgan's sharp claws that was digging into her neck.

"I'll see you then," Thomas promised, giving them both a last hug before a Taxi Elf apparated him home.

More tired than she let on, Medea turned to Chrissy. "Anyone else you wanna say goodbye to, or are you ready to go? Axy's here to take us."

Chrissy eyed her friend up and down. "Are you okay? This isn't like you. You normally say goodbye to everyone in the school."

Medea shrugged. Who was there to say goodbye to? Her friends who had spent all of thirty-two hours fawning over her once she left the infirmary, then went right back to their little circles which had grown to exclude her in so short a time?

No. She had no one else here to au revoir.

* * *

"She's so vain," Thomas commented with amused detachment from his place on Medea's Universe-size hanging bed, next to the two girls. They were all watching Morgan Morai groom herself in front of one of Medea's mirrors. In black-cat form, the familiar would twist her head to check her reflection, smooth a particularly fluffy spot with her raspy tongue, and move on to another place.

"She's ignoring you," Chrissy pointed out. In the mirror, Medea saw Morgan's eyes narrow slightly, before the cat went back to swiping a licked paw across her whiskers.

"And she seriously takes your mail and everything?" Thomas asked incredulously. "When does she find the time? Before or in between her morning and afternoon washes?"

Medea couldn't help the smile that twisted across her lips, despite her loyalty to Morgan. "Her personality is affected, even magnified, by whatever form she's in. When she's an owl, she's a lot more business-like. Plus, she would never fail in a delivery."

"If she doesn't chip a nail," Chrissy sniggered.

"Get out of my house," Medea huffed. "Two weeks with you is insufferable."

Checking his watch, Thomas announced, "your wish will be granted in...three hours."

"I didn't really mean it," Medea admitted. "Hey, I got you guys those tickets, right? The concert was really fun."

"Even if you did make us put up with Esrea," Chrissy reminded her.

"Whatever. Don't ruin my summer-glory."

* * *

July was half-way done and, like it or not, tenth grade was just around the corner.

All her life she had waited, pined for high school- to be on the grown-up scale of 'childhood.' Independence, responsibility, and thereby the freedom of adulthood had always intoxicated Medea, and the fact that she was going into tenth grade emphasized how close she was to finally spreading her wings. So whereas most high schoolers were dreading the start of school, Medea was excited.

In short increments over the past few weeks she had trained for the Pegalo team with Morgan, and was satisfied she could continue her place on it. The year after she would be in eleventh grade- and eligible to be chosen by Rebecca Backs as the next Pegalo team captain, which meant she could keep Esrea from the sport for a year or two, anyway.

Chrissy was always a competitor for the title, of course, but Medea was the one striving for it- not her friend.

She was once again on the field with Morgan and was practicing shooting the levitating ball across the sky when her father flew in on his own honey-colored pegasus and familiar, Raxus.

_What's he doing here? _Medea abandoned the game to salute her pater and question him.

"Care to play a few rounds with your old man?" Angelis asked, a mischievous, competitive glint in his eyes.

"You mean wipe the sky with your wind?" Medea taunted back, and in confirmation Morgan arched her neck and neighed aggressively at her father and Raxus.

Her father laughed. "It may not be Quidditch, but I'm not hopeless. Three out of five?"

"You got it," Medea agreed.

The point of the game was quite simple- to shoot the ball in your team's net. The issues- the net was just a foot in diameter and moved erratically up and down and all around the back of each team's field. Pegasus and their riders had to be prepared for all sorts of flying maneuvers to score.

Although each team normally had three players on the field at each time in the junior leagues and five in the senior, Medea and her father still put up a fun fight. Raxus' seniority to Morgan gave him the edge over his daughter, but she had a fierce agility his more passivity couldn't match. To counter that, Medea was much more skilled and practiced at Pegalo than her father was. And in the end, she and Morgan won- but just barely, by one score.

"Good game," Medea panted as she stood by Angelis on the ground, her legs rather wobbly. The two pegasus slowly flew around the field to cool off, before their familiars would unsaddle and groom them.

"You're a remarkable player," Angelis praised. She felt the same flush of pride she always did when he complimented her.

"We'll have to try that with Quidditch sometime."

"You'd probably beat me," she admitted truthfully.

"Probably," he agreed, chuckling maliciously. Several minutes of them watching their friends fly passed until he spoke again.

"Do you remember when you were hurt, in the hospital, after the pegasus attack, and I talked to you about your family needing you?"

"Y-es," she said, frowning now. "I thought it was a dream, honestly."

His voice was flat. "It wasn't."

"Well?" she chanced quietly, dread building in her stomach. Of course this wouldn't be a happy father-daughter day. There was always a catch.

"I trust you. To prove that, I won't ask for you to give me an Unbreakable Vow. But Medea," he stared intensely at her, "you can't speak of this to anyone. It would kill our family."

She waited tensely for him to continue.

Angelis paused, clasped his hands behind his back, turned away from her so all she could see was his broad shoulders.

"I hardly know where to begin. Your mother and I met through the service of someone in Britain...someone rather focused on maintaining pureblood witches and wizards. He went a bit overboard and he's gone, now, dead- or so we thought." Here he turned to face his daughter and the look on his face was darkly disturbing.

"If he's back, like we think he is, we're going to have to move back to England. Not immediately," Angelis promised, trying to comfort the stunned look on her face, "but he expects loyalty. And purity," he added, as a quiet afterthought.

"Medea, if I tell you this, you can't tell even Caprice. Certainly not Esrea."

She waited, feeling like she had the last time he had placed responsibility on her- like she was in a weird dream where the words were clear but nothing made sense.

"When your youngest sister was quite small, she snuck Caprice's wand and said a simple spell she had heard her mother perform." Angelis paused, sighed deeply, continued. "Nothing happened. And not only that, but she's _never_ performed any sort of magic throughout her life. When she fell off her pegasus when she was seven- she should've healed herself quickly, but it took several months, just like a Muggle-born.

"Chanalea's a squib, Medea." He didn't pause to let the electricity settle. "If she goes to Salem this fall and can't do the simplest of spells, it'll be all over the papers- the press will have a hay-day. There'll be no way to cover it up._ He'll _hear about it overseas, and he'll either make me kill her, or our entire family."

Medea's legs gave way and she sat down in a huff. "I don't understand. Can't you just stop following this man? Why did you, in the first place?"

Angelis gave a sour grunt that in the back of her mind she realized should've been a laugh. "Caprice and I were both young and foolish. Neither of us realized what we were getting into- we had... no, _I_ had no purpose in life. And when he spoke, to hear him paint the future where I was worth something...a future where I didn't have to hear my father rail down about my uselessness...it was intoxicating. How the disciples must've felt listening to Jesus Christ..." There was a dreamy quality to his voice that scared Medea shitless. That even though this man was threatening their family, her father could still praise him...

"Who is it? Can we kill him?"

He laughed for real this time. "Kill him? He was hit with a full Avada Kedavra fourteen years ago, Medea. If he's back now, like everyone's saying, there's no way. He's invincible, and he's powerful."

"But he'd really kill Chanalea? Just because she's a squib?" Medea asked, desperation seeping through her veins. Not Chanalea. She was so innocent.

"Without hesitation," Angelis confirmed. "He'll see her as an embarrassment to his cause, especially as...well, Caprice and I were favorites of his."

"So what do we do?" Medea demanded rather shrilly. Why didn't he give her answers? "Do we fake her death and send her away...?"

"She'd be found," Angelis grunted. "We'd have to wipe her memory, and I'm not prepared to lose her. Might as well kill her, Medea. But I can't. I can't do either." Her father, who had seemed so confident and strong merely minutes ago, now reeked of desperation and resignation. It was _wrong_.

"So what do we do?" Medea repeated, anxiety making her angry.

Angelis sighed wearily. "You've studied vampires?"

"Yes! Getonwithit!"

"What you probably didn't cover, and what few people know, is that what we call vampires are actually muggles turned vampire. Can you guess what that means?" He thankfully didn't pause long enough for her to chew him out again.

"It means that when a magical person, or any person born by magical parents- so squibs included, turns into a vampire, they suck an entire different essence out of a human when they feed." Angelis took a deep, shuddering breath.

"They take their magic." Angelis voice was as grim as a frost-covered graveyard.

"What does that have to do with Chanalea?" Medea asked already knew what the answer would be... but it was crazy, utter _lunacy_, and she needed to know exactly what her father was planning.

"It's the only way I can fix this, Medea. We've got to make her into a magical vampire."

* * *

**A/N: **BaDUMPssshhhh xD


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

No JKR here.

_thankyou Ser Serendipity and before he exits_

* * *

'Always wear for the occasion' was a motto of Caprice's that Medea liked to borrow when convenient, and as the occasion was the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts and it _was_ convenient, she wore a flaming red athletic shirt, glamoured her broom tail the same vibrant shade, and put scarlet streaks in her black hair to top it all off.

Most of Slytherin turned up to watch the tryouts, as did a considerable majority of the other houses, keen to see their new competition. So with all the people watching, she should've been nervous, she really should've. It was a testament to her arrogant nerves that as Urquhart, the team captain, called for them to mount their brooms, she was the only person whose knees weren't shaking. (Except for Draco, perhaps, but she wasn't purposefully not paying him any attention, for the single fact that she wanted to watch his every move.)

A brisk lap around the Quidditch pitch and two were disqualified due to shabby broom-man-ship, or whatever it was they called it in England. Personally, ignoring pegalo, Medea had never felt better.

Each position was up for grabs. Ironic, as Draco was the only one trying out for Seeker. Next came the new Chasers to join Urquhart- Vaisey and Zabini, and after the Chasers...

"Beaters!" Urquhart called out loudly, and Medea swore the entire field had an aneurism when she picked up a bat and mounted her broom along with Crabbe, Goyle and an anonymous held-back second-year with a pug-like face.

"Listen up!" Urquhart blew his whistle unnecessarily. It echoed out into the dead-silent Hogwarts grounds as the four Slytherins perched atop their brooms with anticipation.

"I'm going to throw a bludger into the middle of the field, and the point is for you four to knock each other off your brooms," he yelled shrilly. "If anybody's still around after five minutes, I'll add another bludger, and another five minutes later, and so on. The last two standing- er, flying, are my Beaters. Got it, pansies?"

The quartet nodded and spread out, a slight breeze tousling their hair.

Fire and pure excitement shot through Medea's veins like liquor, heightening her senses and bringing pure enjoyment. The fact that the spectators and Urquhart himself dismissed her as a girl did nothing to keep the confidence from winging through her whole body. When the whistle blew yet again and the first bludger sprang at them, it was her bat that connected with it for the first time, sending it with a loud crack in the Goyle's direction.

She could have laughed with glee at the stunned look on his face, if not for the fact that Crabbe shot it straight back at her. Putting a light, quick pressure on her broom she twisted to the right rather casually but just in time to avoid the bludger smashing her face. As it catapulted back in the direction of human bodies she dodged one of its blows and on its rebound sent it zinging in the direction of pug-face. He attempted to dodge, but it hit him rather harshly on his left shoulder and he spun to the ground, out of commission.

After that it was simply Crabbe and Goyle ganging up on her. She used the opportunity to show off: every move she made was quick, flexible. Medea was determined to prove her better balance, her perfect hunter's instincts and athletic reflexes. Whereas the two friends were either offensive- smacking the bat in her direction, or defensive- smacking the bat away from themselves, she did both simultaneously and proved to be much more effective.

Once there were three bludgers on the field, the two boys started playing dirty, attempting to knock her off her broom or snatch the bat from her tight grasp. Her breath was coming short now- every move she made had to be calculated as she pulled up, dove, and weaved around the bludgers, Crabbe and Goyle. The entire world- the ground and the sky above her and the people around them had disappeared long ago, until the only thing left was the intense, competitive pressure forcing her to win and the pounding in her heart and the dry raggedness in her throat as she panted.

Just as she pulled out of a corkscrew she spotted two bludgers coming right at her, and far behind them in the bleachers, Draco Malfoy with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

_What could he possibly be so pleased about? _she wondered, yanking the broom back up- except the will to move stayed in her head and refused to actually...move her. In the last few heartbeats while she froze there on her broom, she saw as if from another body the Bludgers speeding towards her paralyzed frame, and the impact the steel balls sent through her like an earthquake.

* * *

Like a light-switch, she woke up in the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey's busy-body-bustling.

"Good, you're awake, dear!" she said rather fussily, as if it were Medea's fault she'd been struck with two active bludgers. After that, it was all fuzzy-headed recollections, over-all soreness which quickly materialized into sharp pain in her chest, abdomen and spine, and lots of "here, drink this" and "how do you feel now?" and "get out of my infirmary this is not a hotel!"

It was all very hazy and subjective to Medea. She was later told she called Pomfrey Nurse Mollie several times- due to the concussion she received after falling from her broom. (She rather hated it at the moment- a pegasus would have caught her.) Sadly, the Hogwarts nurse was anything _but_ as kind and caring as Mollie was.

The first thing she consciously participated in started with Chanalea. The Butterfly sat on a chair by her sister's bed and traced patterns on the white cloth with one hand, holding her head in the other.

"Channy?" Medea managed to get out after two tries. Her throat was raw, and anticipating her request, Chanalea handed a glass of water to her. With a bright face the young girl watched her sister gulp.

"Any idea how you froze?" For the first time she noticed Pansy at the foot of her bed.

Medea opened her mouth to spout out the first thing to came to her mind, but the water had cleared her mind rather quickly so instead she swallowed another sip.

"I guess I just froze," she admitted rather ruefully, staring into the clear liquid.

"Well, all this-" she gestured to the table beside Medea which was covered with goodies, flowers and cards, "is from Theo, Hestia, Flora, Daphne, Astoria, Millicent, Chanalea and I. Consider it the Stamp of Approval- you've had your first Quidditch injury. And last, apparently." Pansy's voice was sympathetic.

_Last? We'll see about that._

* * *

Pomfrey let her out of the Hospital Wing in time for classes Monday. By then, with help from with Chanalea, Pansy and Hestia, she had diminished her pile of goodies to a bare fourth of its previous glory. The latter two walked her to class and even offered to carry her satchel, but Medea refused.

"I'm fine, seriously," she promised, eying the rainy pre-autumn morning outside rather wistfully.

"Actually, scratch that, my Ancient Runes homework is crap," she moaned. "Babbly Bathsheda's gonna kill me."

"Probably," Pansy agreed cheerfully, popping another of Medea's chocolate frogs in her mouth.

"She'll give you a break 'cause you were in the Wing the whole time," Hestia assured, ignoring Pansy's doubting 'hm.'

Medea scrapped her vaguely anxious veneer the minute she sat down in class next to Malfoy, before one of his friends could claim the spot.

His eyebrows slid up his face involuntarily at her charming smile.

"Malfoy," she called him disarmingly. "You don't mind if I sit with you, do you?" She plopped her books on the table and flashed him another grin.

"Beaumont," he said rather warily, mask on but eyes scrutinizing her face as to why she could be so friendly.

"So you're out of the Wing," he stated.

"Can't be two places at once, can I?" she asked cheerfully, ignoring Goyle who was standing behind her rather impatiently.

Malfoy turned around lazily. "Looks like you'll have to find another spot," he told his friend as if he could care less. Professor Bathsheda Babbling marched into the room at that very instant and stiffly took command, ending all social conversing.

Throughout class Medea studiously avoided her seat partner, knowing the entire classroom was sending curious, covert glances in her direction; even Malfoy himself, when he thought she couldn't see.

Out in the hallway and the hustle-and-bustle of teenagers scurrying to their next class, Medea had stayed behind to asked Babbling a quick question when, in the doorway, Draco's bag split and its contents scattered on the ground. His inkwell shattered and spilt onto several of his textbooks.

"Oooh!" Medea exclaimed with concern, rushing over to help him. "How clumsy of you." Malfoy's head snapped up and he glared at her.

"Yes, how clumsy of me," he managed to agree sourly, though his face did that seizure-thing again. As her hands scurried to help collect his items she accidentally pushed a book further into the inky puddle.

"Ooops," she apologized, "how clumsy of _me_. Must be catching! Hahahaha! Oh, look, it's a _Quidditch_ book," she noted with a coyly. "Fascinating, though I would think you'd be more interested in w_andless magic_."

Malfoy pulled out his wand stiffly and with a flick of it, everything cleaned itself and shot into his open satchel in a surprisingly organized manner. "Oh, really?" he asked cooly, standing up without deigning to help her to her feet. "What makes you think that?"

"Call it a...class in America you don't have here at Hogwarts," she offered sweetly, rising to stare him face-to-face. (Curse the six inches he had on her.) Although she was lying, he wouldn't know that. But they both knew he was the one who froze her on her broom so his friends could win. (Once she got what she wanted, she would have to make him tell her how he had bypassed her wards like that. Some British trick Americans weren't familiar with, no doubt.)

"In fact, I'm thinking about showing it to Headmaster Dumbledore, or perhaps Snape. Which do you think I should- or _both_, even?" Medea questioned, tilting her head to the side and gazing up at him from her lashes as Esrea would.

"I'm sure I could care less, Beaumont," he said with bravado, although a flicker did run across his face.

"Sure, Malfoy," she agreed sarcastically, and pushed past him to get to her next class. The fact was, she had nothing on him to prove that he had jinxed her, and everything against her little goal. Despite the fact her father was of old blood and she was Hogwart's New Thing, come from America and all, Draco Malfoy still pulled far more weight than her. Especially in Slytherin.

But because she was Medea, and because that was synonymous with determined obsessiveness, she enlisted the help of a smidgen of her own personal stash of Felix Felicis the next morning.

* * *

"You're sure in a good mood," Hestia commented as Medea, fresh from the showers, sprang into the girl's dorm rapping to Empire State of Mind.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" was Millicent's paralleled response, eying Medea with horror as the American girl 'got down' in only a towel, oblivious to her friend's alternately shocked and amused expressions.

Pansy merely laughed, throwing her friend's robe at her. "We'll be late for breakfast, c'm'along darlings. Leave Medea alone- she'll come to her sanity in a bit. Maybe."

"Let's hear it for New York, New York, New York!" Medea called, effortlessly executing a perfect one-armed fireman around her bed post.

"OOOooooookay," from a slightly perturbed Flora, exiting with the other sixth year girls.

It was a perfect morning. Her hair was perfect, her shower had been perfect, her face was clear and radiant and hardly even needed makeup but what she added made her positively gloriously beautifully ineffably perfect, and was it just her, or did her robes make her look even better than usual?

And did she mention breakfast went by perfectly, as well? The elves apparently got the memo because her favorite food- croissants with cream cheese, orange juice and lots of fruit was piled on the table. Morgan Morai showed up with goodies from her parents and a letter- yes, she could spend Christmas in America with Chrissy. The euphoria of that gave her the patience to bide her time for several hours.

All day she watched Malfoy until she could figure out a plan to get him to admit what he had done, but it wasn't until after their last class, Potions, (that actually went rather well for once) that Malfoy finally went off by himself.

He was a sneaky little bastard, and Medea lost him after five minutes had run by. It was then she realized she'd waited too long- she had taken such a small dose, the Felix Felicis had worn off.

_Ah, shit, _she muttered, _shit shit shit shit shit. _In fact, not only had she lost him, she'd lost herself, as well- Medea had no clue which part of the castle she was in.

It was then that she heard footsteps and pulled back just in time to see the caboose of Harry Potter, but keep him from spotting her.

Medea unconsciously slowed, trying to decide if it was worth it to try and keep tracking down Malfoy (seemingly impossible) or catch up with Potter and have him point her in the right direction. Just as she had made up her mind and was hurrying to catch the Gryffindor, she heard masculine yelling and the sounds of a duel.

"Cruci-" it was Malfoy's voice, cut off by Potter. Medea was just in time to see down the hall-way, the profile of the dark-haired boy facing an open doorway and his mouth forming "Sectumpsempra!"

A brief pause that felt like a life-time- she saw Potter's face widen then pale in shock, heard a body falling to the floor inside the doorway and a girl's shrill scream. "You've killed him! And gotten blood all over my nice floor too, young man!"

Medea found herself still moving, shoving Harry Potter aside and darting inside the bathroom to the body on the floor. Draco Malfoy was laying prone on the tile, covered in his own blood. Deep, welling slashes covered his torso, cutting through his shirt and deep into his skin. Acting quickly and barely taking in her surroundings or the ghost watching in fascination, Medea frantically tore off part of her robe and pressed it firmly against the pureblood's torso.

"Wait...Medea? Medea Beaumont?" Harry Potter asked in obvious surprise, still frozen in the dooryway. "What are you doing here?"

"Potter, get out of here before teachers show up," Medea hissed. "I can heal this. Go!" And her Felix Felicis apparently must not have worn off, or either Gryffindor courage wasn't all it was made up to be, because the boy acquiesced and fled.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy demanded, face taut and drained. The cloth beneath her fingers was quickly becoming seeped, but even so she refused to heal him just yet.

"Admit to Urquhart that you jinxed me, and make him put me on the team," Medea said with chilling calm, staring down at him with superiority.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy insisted, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain flooded his senses. Medea ripped the cloth off his wounds roughly, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Put me on the team!" she yelled insistently, angry now. The luck potion clouded her senses and normal, rational self-control. "I know you hexed me!"

"Fine!" Malfoy muttered, his eyelids fluttering. Eyes narrowing, she pressed fiercely onto his chest, causing more pain.

"Fine! I promise you'll get on the team as a Beater!" he gasped, fury in his voice and narrowed features. "You said you could heal me- do it!"

"Vulnera Sanentur," and the bleeding went to a minimal. Relieved, as it was actually a guess, she incanted twice more and he was healed. With a simple spell she attempted to clean them up, but even so, they looked rather ragged.

"Get up," Medea said rather harshly. "I have dittany to help the scars in my dorm but we need to move quickly, or it'll be too late."

Draco followed her to the door, but stopped when she sped out into the hallway.

"Where are you going?" he asked bemusedly, cocky yes, but his voice lacked venom or mockery. Medea stopped and spun around, suddenly conscious she didn't actually know where she was. (For a banged-up guy, he didn't look too dead-beat.)

_Oh, right._

"Fine, you lead," she suggested a bit sarcastically. "But keep us away from people- you look like hell."

Malfoy set off in the right direction rather quickly, forcing her to jog to keep up. _"I _look like hell? Beaumont, have you seen yourself?"

"I don't spend my time in the bathroom checking my reflection," Medea taunted, and instantly realized she'd said the wrong thing when his face shut off. She cursed herself for noticing; for the tinge of disappointment that ran through her.

_When did I start studying his minimal facial expressions? He barely has any._

_Which is why you should study him. It will make you more effective in your dealings with him._

_Whatever._

They traversed the rest of the way to the Slytherin common room silently, without any run-ins except a startled first-year.

Despite herself, Medea raced up to her dorm, flipped up her trunk lid, snatched the dittany and flew back down the stairs, only stopping to compose herself as she came into his sight. Save him the room was still empty, she noticed detachedly.

When she moved automatically to take the rest of his shirt off, he stopped her instinctively.

"You want to do this yourself?" Medea asked pointedly, but her face suddenly felt warm. Malfoy moved his hands from blocking her and turned his face to study the wall.

The scars on his chest would heal fine, she told Malfoy neutrally, though inwardly she felt relieved. As she spread a thin layer of the medicine on his chest, Medea couldn't help but appreciate how well-sculpted he was. Even with the cool medicine on her fingertips, she could feel the heat of his skin and quite suddenly she realized how close in proximity she was to a shirtless boy.

_A boy who snogs your bitchy sister, _she reminded herself, dispelling any...hormonal tendencies.

"How did you learn so much about healing?" Malfoy asked, watching her careful ministrations.

"What?" Medea asked, rather startled. She glanced from her work up into his silver-and-blue eyes. He actually seemed genuinely curious, not mocking or anything. Weird.

"Oh. Just...something I'm interested in, y'know." He wasn't Thomas. She wouldn't tell him it was because she wanted to be a Healer with Magical Creatures: he had shut her out; she would shut him out.

So he surprised her when he said, "You're good with it."

It wasn't really a compliment. Tthe way he said it, it was just a fact. Still, it surprised her, and a soft 'thank you' slipped out before she could catch herself.

At her gentle words, the blinds went back over his face and he stiffened; looked up and away.

_Dammit. _

Obviously he hadn't meant her to take it however he thought she had taken it.

How _had_ she taken it? She hadn't said it too sweetly, had she? Oh _Merlin and Morgana, _he didn't think she was..._flirting_ with him, did she? She had to fix this. _Move on, keep speaking._

"Don't wash that off for a full four hours. If it isn't healed, come back to me for more- you don't want that scarring, especially that spot on your face."

"What about my face?" he asked, suddenly teasing. His switch from broody-boy to flirt was unnerving, and she decided she'd had enough of him.

"Remember our deal, Malfoy," Medea reminded him, packing up the dittany. As she screwed the lid back on the small jar he surprised her yet again by silently Transfiguring a nearby pillow into a towel for her to wipe her fingers on.

"Thanks," she said, remembering to keep her tone professional this time. "I want to hear tomorrow at breakfast that I'm on as a Beater. Got it? Or, do you not have as much power in Slytherin as everyone seems to think?" The taunt was a low blow, but he was so self-possessed and confident it made her feel almost threatened. Almost.

His cool eyes studied hers, the mask on as quickly as it was off. But even still, she wondered if...just, the way he was looking at her...if she'd impressed him.

"Got it. You'll hear at dinner tonight."

She was sure of it.

"But...may I ask...why a Beater? Obviously you're strong enough, but why is it so valuable to you?" Malfoy asked, just as she was leaving. Turning back to face him, Medea studied his face quizzically. It was so impossibly hard to tell what was going on behind his mask sometimes- like now. Which was infuriating, because she really didn't want to humiliate herself in front of _him_, of all people.

As if sensing her confusion, he flashed her a rare half-smile that wasn't as much of a smirk as his usual grins. It actually kind of looked...nice. Genuine, even.

She hugged the small bottle of dittany to her chest, allowing the comfort the defensive gesture offered even while realizing he would instantly pick up on it.

"Yeah, I have the physical ability," Medea eventually agreed, but his question wasn't quite answered. "My...father played as a Beater," she offered, dropping her eyes to sightlessly stare at the floor while remembering fond childhood memories of flying carefree with Angelis. "He's the one who taught me how to play Quidditch, actually."

"My father as well," Malfoy admitted tonelessly, quietly.

She glanced up and risked the question, just because he had asked her. "Was he a Seeker?"

He nodded, and for once his face didn't have the same level of arrogant venom it usually held.

Medea paused a moment, wondering if he was thinking the same thing she had- how both their fathers had played Quidditch, both had taught their respective children, who went on to play their parent's positions.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, vacantly musing, until he spoke up.

"Thank you, Medea," Malfoy said, his voice, features and posture holding nothing but respect. Hands by his side, he even gave a little head tilt that could be deciphered as a bow.

But that was very little compared to the fact that he had just called her _Medea_. In America, that meant nothing...but in England, she had quickly learned first names signified intimacy, friendship, loyalty, all at the very least.

This was his offer, his proverbial handshake, so to speak.

All this ran through her thoughts in a confusing, startling manner and she honestly didn't know what to make of it, or if she could even trust him. She realized she _wanted_ to- and that could always be dangerous.

"It would have been very...irritating...if a teacher, or _Potter_, had dealt with it." His voice was still formal except for a ting of the nasty self he showed to the world when he used Harry's name. He waited for her response, and she knew why.

What was it Chrissy would say in a situation like this? Medea imagined her friend's lower lip stuck out in a contemplative duck-like face.

"My gram's always said to 'treat 'em like they've earned,'" Chrissy would probably suggest.

_Fine._

This time, the smile she gave him was (although small) genuine, and softened her eyes just a bit. "You're welcome, Draco."

And, just to be all pureblood and polite like he was acting: "it was my privilege."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry that took so long! End of holidays, visitors who didn't get the memo to visit _during _the holidays and not after when everyone's trying to get on with our puny little lives, (oh well) and...of course...Sherlock. xD Next chapter is almost done! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

"_No no no,"_ Medea interjected, huffing for breath as she went up and down in sequent squats, "you don't understand, Pansy, he _makes out with my little sister. _Esrea? Bitch Queen of the Year? Don't you get why I can't cozy up to him?"

Pansy's face, shiny with sweat as she skipped ropes under Medea's supervision, was clearly doubtful. "And _you _realize -huffhuff- Esrea literally throws...herself at him?"

"Switch," Medea commanded, taking the jump rope from her friend and skipping as she watched Pansy straighten her body over the floor, forearms and toes balancing on the plush dorm carpet in the plank position.

"Don't let your back dip," Medea admonished, getting more elaborate with the rope-hopping by twisting the thin strand right and left and behind her as well.

"I'm trying," Pansy muttered, grimacing painfully. "Merlin, this hurts."

"It's supposed to," Medea shot back, not attempting to disguise her amusement. "And _yesss,_ I am well aware of my sister's hoe-ish-ness. That's one of the reasons I object to any male who gives her the -huff- time of day."

Pansy gave a final groan and allowed her torso to sink to the floor. Wiping sweat out of her eyes, she panted, "they're keeping it really under wraps, but you know his dad's about to go on trial with a possible Azkaban sentence? Give Draco a break, girl. He's just blowing off steam. It's what he does; he's _playing_ with her. It's not like he's even serious about it. You need to understand that. He hardly ever sees her, anyway, and he told me they only snogged a couple of times."

Medea scowled at her and stopped testing gravity. "Don't you like...have a problem with that? With Draco kissing another girl?"

The smile Pansy had was wistful but not a bit defensive. "If you're saying what I think you're saying, then truly and completely, it would be as if I were kissing my brother. Not that I have one, but you get the idea. We know each other too well- there's no spark, no chemistry. Besides, he's not interested in me."

Sensing her friend was telling the truth, Medea bobbed her head in understanding. Part of her wanted to ask who Draco _was _interested in, but she had already revealed enough to Pansy, and didn't want the girl thinking...well, assuming. Things. It never occurred to her to ask who Pansy _was_ interested in.

"Okay, break's over," Medea asserted, "let's keep going."

Pansy groaned dramatically and got to her feet.

* * *

"But _why_ won't you go with me to Hogsmeade?" The whining voice on the other side of the library aisle belonged to Esrea. It brought Medea out of her fascinating book on dragons and she stifled a noisy groan.

"Because we're not together," Draco said distantly. Medea's resolution not to eavesdrop dissipated instantly.

"But we _could_ be," Esrea wheedled, and Medea could picture her moving in on the Slytherin boy.

"No, we couldn't," Draco parried in the same casual, slightly disdainful voice as if they were discussing types of dirt- _with_ cricket shit, with_out_, etc.

Esrea didn't seem to get it. "I know you want me," she murmured just loud enough for her sister to catch.

"To _leave_ me so I can study." Medea barely held back a snort and mentally cheered him on.

"_Draco __Malfoy!__"_ She was pathetic.

"_Esrea Beaumont__!"_ he mimicked in a similar tone.

"Why not?" The pout coming out in her voice again.

"Because you're dating that fourth-year," Draco announced, starting to sound like he was losing his patience. "Ask _him."_

"And if I break up with him?" Esrea's tone was hard and calculating now, like a malicious child in a goody shop.

"Ask me then," Draco suggested, and Medea could hear the temper revealing itself more fully. "Really, Beaumont, is there something else, or do you have anything useful to say on the feeding rituals of the Peruvian Vipertooth?"

"The _what?"_ Esrea demanded. Medea could imagine her nose wrinkling with distaste. "Gross. Who cares, anyway?" she interjected before he could answer. "Just tell me it's not because of Pansy."

"What's not because of Pansy?" he parried.

"You know! Hogsmeade!" she spat, her self-control lost. "Or, _Merlin and Morgana _forbid, _Medea!"_

"What about Medea?" Same tone as discussing Pansy.

Said girl decided she'd heard enough, especially as she was holding a book that would help Draco's dragon-feeding-issue. Medea completed a proverbial U-turn around the library shelf and stopped a few paces away from the two. Draco, flipping hurriedly through the pages of a book, was barely a few inches away from an insistent Esrea.

"I couldn't help but hear you say something about the Peruvian Vipertooth's feeding habits," Medea admitted politely. "I have the book on it." She held up said object.

Esrea's head snapped around and she glared fiercely at Medea without moving away from the Malfoy.

"Yes," Draco spoke up without sounding relieved, but quickly enough for Medea to guess that he was. "I haven't found anything about their prey."

"Go_ away__,_ Medea," Esrea snarled, sounding like a petulant child, "I can help him with that."

Malfoy watched the sisters closely- one grasping and vicious, the other icy and collected.

Medea scoffed, "you didn't even know what a Peruvian Vipertooth _was."_

Esrea's blue eyes widened. "You were _listening_ to us?"

"And _you_ were interrupting my study-time!" Medea snapped impatiently, backing away. "Rather _loudly_, too. Look, Draco, if you want my help I'll be at one of the tables." Before either could respond she had turned away and was striding quickly toward the library study areas.

She selected an isolated table and pretended to read her book to disguise the fact she was brooding.

Why hadn't Draco just given Esrea a flat-out NO to Hogsmeade? Had Pansy told her the truth this morning, or were her words hand-fed from Draco? And on that note, how _was_ he really handling his father's recent imprisonment? She wondered what it would be like to have Death Eaters are parents.

Tiny arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind and a high voice whispered enthusiastically, "Meddie!"

"Channy!" Medea twisted around to properly hug her little sister over the back of her chair. "Why are we whispering?"

"Madam Pince will kick you out of the library if you talk loudly," Chanalea warned, big green eyes wide. "She did it to some Gryffindors just the other day." In an even softer voice the first year added, "I don't think she likes us very much."

Medea laughed, released her sister and pulled up a chair for Chanalea, who promptly plopped down in it.

"I think you're right," Medea agreed. "She doesn't seem to like anyone. What brings you to the library, then?"

"To see you!" Chanalea admitted with a brilliant smile. "Plus, I need your help."

"Hah, the truth comes out," Medea chuckled, tucking a blond strand behind Chanalea's milky-white ear and leaning on her arm chair to be closer to her sis.

"I didn't ask anyone else," Chanalea offered. "I really _do _want to see you. I miss you."

Medea grinned companionably. "Me, too. So, what's this-" she cut off her words when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco stop at the table.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" he asked with lazy, mock-deference, a book tucked under his right arm.

Chanalea looked from one to the other curiously as Medea sat up straight, the mask not on completely, but the warmhearted expression gone from her face.

"Not at all. Chanalea, Draco."

"Nice to meet you," Draco smiled at the Hufflepuff. (Well, not really a _smile_, but the equivalent for Draco.)

Chanalea had that effect on people, Medea told herself.

"Sit down," she invited aloud, flipping the pages of her book back to the start of the Peruvian feeding chapter. Draco placed himself across from Medea and next to Chanalea.

"This pretty much covers it." Medea slid the open textbook across the slick table surface over to Draco, who accepted it responsively.

Turning to Chanalea, Medea asked her what she needed in a voice that insinuated she was welcome to stay.

Chanalea dug through her satchel and brought out her Transfiguration textbook.

"I have no clue how to Transfigure anything," she admitted, plopping it with a loud 'thump' on the table.

"Shh!" Madam Pince hissed from nearby. Chanalea slunk in her chair, darting an apologetic smile in the librarian's direction.

"Ignore her," Draco glanced up briefly to advise what Medea would have, but once Pince had _gone, _not while she was still listening. "She's always like that."

Chanalea nodded authoritatively. "That's what Medea said." They turned back to Transfiguration.

"You didn't really go over it at Salem, did you? Well, what do you have the most problems with?" Medea asked, skimming over the first few pages. "You get the formula- A, V, W, C, Z?"

Chanalea stared at her blankly. Medea hid a smile and pointed to the first page.

"Think of it as a formula, like mathematics. You're good at math, remember?" Her sister nodded.

"There are five different variables that add up to make the Transfiguration. Body weight, or A, viciousness, V, wand power, W, concentration, C, and a fifth unknown variable called Z which is probably our own magic. Got it? Write that down," Medea instructed. Chanalea was quick to comply, and for a few seconds the only sounds were Medea quietly reminding her the variables and the scratching of Chanalea's quill. While she worked, Medea looked over her textbook and laughed a little to herself.

"What?" Chanalea demanded, catching on the soft sound.

"McGonagall didn't have you Transfigure mice, did she?"

Chanalea's disgusted face was enough of an answer.

"Channy, Channy, they won't hurt you," Medea mollified her, a smile blooming on her face.

"They're disgusting," Chanalea insisted in a voice rather like Caprice's.

"We'll get you over that one day, but in the meantime, you can Transfigure this match."

* * *

While the venomous Peruvian Vipertooth was fascinating, Medea's gentleness with Chanalea was more so. Draco observed to himself that he had never seen her so indulgent, even with other first-years. As an only-child, he assumed older teens his own age would see their younger siblings as a burden. He certainly didn't wish for any, anymore, anyway.

Chanalea was captivating, he could admit, but she came across as needing to be protected and that was something he would never have tolerated in his own non-existent siblings.

_Maybe that's the charm Medea sees in her, _he mused to himself. Either way- it was doubtful there was another person so significant to the Slytherin girl as her young sister. It made Medea even more of an interesting contradiction.

Later that afternoon was the first Quidditch practice of the season. Draco had already made sure the rest of the team (minus Goyle) was informed of Medea's position, so there wouldn't be an embarrassing fuss when she arrived for practice. (Embarrassing for _him_, not her, as he had no interest in explaining to anyone his intricate role in Medea's placement as a Beater.)

It wasn't until all seven members were in the Slytherin locker room and Sean Urquhart was handing out the Quidditch robes that Draco realized there wasn't a girls/boys sectioned-off changing room. When Vincent Crabbe started to pull off his shirt, Sean elbowed him roughly, shaking his head vehemently in Medea's direction. Everyone's eyes were darting between her and Urquhart.

If the American girl noticed anything she didn't let on; simply turned her back, shed her school robes and replaced them with Slytherin's. Draco started changing and laughed silently at his shocked friends, whose jaws were scraping the rubber-matted floor.

_They'll have to get used to having a girl on the team. Especially one who looks like Medea does._

Out on the Quidditch pitch, Sean Urquhart had everyone (including himself) warm up with five quick laps. It wasn't a race but they competed anyway. Medea came in second, just behind Draco.

"It's only because she has a nicer broom," he heard Buck Vaisey telling Zabini rather loudly. Draco glanced at the girl in time to see her jaw set and dark eyes narrow stormily.

"Malfoy!" the captain called, bringing his Seeker's attention back to the game. "I'm going to throw the Snitch out, and you're going to, y'know, whatever it is you do." The rest of the team snorted at Urquhart's vague directions.

"Chase it?" Draco suggested with deceptive mildness, but Urquhart had already turned to his fellow chasers, Buck and Blaze. "We're going to get the Quaffle past Harper. Got it?"

"All three of you?" Harper gulped.

"And us?" Medea called, indicating Vincent and herself.

"Oh! Yes. You're beaters, right?" Urquhart asked. Medea shot Draco a what-is-he-doing-as-captain-you-crazy-Quidditch-freaks look and he shrugged, but offered a small smirk.

"Yeah," Vincent growled.

"Then beat!" Urquhart declared merrily, jumping off his broom to release the four different balls.

"We don't have our bats!" Draco heard Medea shriek, but he couldn't see her swoop to the case to retrieve two bats as he himself was narrowly avoiding being pummeled by a bludger.

"The better to learn!" Urquhart was totally unfazed, and the rest of the team too occupied avoiding being stoned by the devilish bludgers to actually _practice._

Up above the others, who had finally gotten into a semblance of a practice once Medea and Vaisey had their bats, Draco sat rather lazily on his broom and simply enjoyed the warm, still air. The sun was out for once and caressed his back, neck and head deliciously.

"Oi! Malfoy!" Urquhart bellowed up at his Seeker, "what the hell d'y'think you're doing?"

"Just what you said," Draco shouted innocently, "I'm looking for the Snitch. I thought I saw it."

"Well it LOOKS like you're-" here he lost his breath as his keeper, Harper, nearly knocked him off his broom in pursuit of blocking the Quaffle.

Sniggering to himself, Draco was nonetheless reminded of his competition, who he couldn't allow to best him in the next match.

As easily as an Olympian diving into the water, Draco dipped his broom handle and sped downward into the melee to search for the Snitch.

He'd always enjoyed flying. In fact, he was so caught up in the determined pleasure of it, Draco never even noticed the way a certain Beater was eying him.

It was satisfying, to have a physical outlet with a very tangible reward. To feel the smooth hardness of the handle beneath him, the way his robes twisted around him when he executed a particularly dervish cocktail. He was just showing off, really, but the Snitch was always hard to spot and there wasn't a lot to do, either.

The practice dragged on indefinitely and Urquhart raised the whistle to his lips to call it a day when Draco gave a shout. Everyone watched as he darted down towards the grass after the golden winged Snitch, intent like a cheetah upon a gazelle.

He reached out his arm, his fingers just barely brushing it, heard a great shout- Urquhart angrily yelling Medea's name. At the same time, all in one breath he grasped the Snitch, turned around to face his teammates triumphantly, and barely registered the bludger a mere yard away from his face. Before it smacked into him he saw Medea Beaumont leaning leisurely across her still broom, a smug look on her exultant face.

* * *

"Payback, Urquhart," Medea snapped, and she knew he knew why.

Draco was sleeping off his mild concussion in the Hospital Wing; the team had all left him to hurriedly shower. Medea, the captain and Zabini were the only ones returning to visit Draco- Crabbe had detention and the rest their own excuses.

"You can't do that again, Beaumont," Urquhart warned threateningly.

"I won't if he doesn't give me a reason to," she promised, pushing open the Hospital Wing doors.

Madam Pomfrey glanced up briefly to shoot them a stern no-nonsense look but didn't keep them from settling around Draco's bed like puppies around their dam. (Pomfrey's reticence meant he'd be fine.)

He didn't wake up for awhile, so after leaving some chocolate frogs on the table Urquhart nodded curtly to his Quidditch teammates and left.

She wasn't sure where to look- not at Draco, certainly, as it wouldn't do to have the boy in the chair across from her catching her...well, eying Draco Malfoy in his sleep. And it was only so long she could keep counting the other beds, the chairs, the tables and all the different drawers.

She was also sure Zabini thought she had a huge crush on Draco, to wait like this. He gave in after awhile though, flashed her a charming smile and left.

After that, it was Pomfrey somewhere in the Hospital Wing, and the boy dozing in the bed in front of her. So far, his alabaster complexion had been relaxed and peaceful, but now it tightened, his brows furrowed and he grimaced.

"Draco?" she asked softly, as his expression grew more fierce...but almost as if he was the one _scared, _not the one doing the scaring.

_Draco Malfoy scared? _

He let out a soft sound not unlike the noises mice made before Morgan pounced, and it only served to confirm Medea's suspicions.

She shook him by the shoulder he had hit the ground on, knowing the pain would reach him and wake him up.

"Draco," Medea called loudly, starting to get a bit alarmed as his head began to twist from side to side on the pillow as if he were shaking it vehemently.

"No, not me," he muttered, and sweat began to form on his brow. "Not me."

"Draco!" she shouted, bringing Pomfrey runnning. "He won't wake up!"

"Rennervate," Pomfrey casted, and Medea cursed herself as Draco's eyes popped open weakly.

_Why didn't I think of that myself? Stupid idiot._

"Wha-?" he asked feebly, and feeling self-conscious, Medea let go of his shoulders and sat back down.

"You were having a nightmare, dear," Pomfrey announced the same way she diagnosed everything. _You have a cat, dear. _

_You must be sexually active, because you're pregnant. _

_I__t seems as if you are infected with a fatal magical disease. I don't have the cure. Look, your friends brought you flowers and chocolate. Enjoy while you can. _

_Next patient. _

As Draco seemed to be fine, Pomfrey left him to finish whatever it was she had been doing.

"Have some water," Medea suggested dryly, handing the glass to him as he sat up. "Care to talk about it?"

"As if," he sneered, the water giving him a clear mustache on his upper lip that he wiped daintily with his bedsheet.

"Ohh, so grumpy," she said sweetly, "he must not be feeling very well. Did dear Draco take a nasty fall?" Medea dropped her faux-concerned face to pick up a dramatically smug smirk. "I've had worse."

Draco's sneer deepened. "So _that's _why you let me get pummeled?"

"_Let _you?" Medea raised her black eyebrows innocently. "I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I was too busy trying to keep one off of _me _before I could see one had gone after _you."_

"Sure," he agreed sarcastically, "too busy _sun-bathing on your broom."_

She stood to leave, took his glass from him unceremoniously and placed it far away from him on his desk, to squeeze his bum shoulder with the same hand.

"The _important thing," _she told him warmly, "is that you're all better and will be out by tomorrow_. _Unlike _some_ who have had bludger-encounters. So no hard feelings, Draco?" She stuck out her palm in an offer which she fully knew one of them would break. She intended it to be her, first.

Draco's silver-blue eyes narrowed harshly at her before he finally accepted a brief handshake. "No hard feelings, Medea," he finally chewed out.

If she was one to be intimidated, she would've trotted a little faster out of the Hospital Wing. As it was, she could feel his glare drilling into her back as she left.

* * *

**A/N** Thanks to Ser Serendipity for high-fiving this chapter for me :) And sorry this took so long to update. It's not really getting a lot of love so I took a week off to work on a Dracoria one-shot, With An Unforgivable. Check it out sometime please :) It's rather long and I'm not done with it yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

Listen to "I Can't Imagine" by Ormonde. (The overall sound; the words aren't important.)

* * *

(Flashback)

As you mature, you don't recognize that's what you're doing. You only realize it when enough time has passed after being broken for you to look back and come to the conclusion you aren't quite the same person you were a month ago, or a year; maybe even a decade. Due to being shattered.

And that's life, Medea decided. In fact, it was the first time in _her _life she'd ever known that particular fact of maturing- that a year in advance you could look back at yourself and see the obvious changes, see where you'd grown and stretched out of your old mold because you'd been fractured.

_So to be able to spot that must mean I'm growing up._

Meditating in the Lotus Throne Pose did interesting things to her thoughts. (Then again, it was kind of hard to try and meditate with Morgan Morai in fluffy black cat form attacking her toes every so often.)

And it wasn't a question of **if**_ I get broken. _It was a question of _when. _That's another thing you never notice until it's already happened. (She gently pulled Morgan's plume-like tail and the creature shot up in the air, half hissing, half purring.)

For example, Medea scorned the idea she would ever be unable to face life. That was a weak way to give up, she'd never be like that; never _give_ up.

Until she did.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in his book the Great Gatsby, _"There's a loneliness that only exists in one's mind. The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."_

When all Medea could do was stare blankly, as she cast the Imperius on her baby sister and saw Chanalea's bright eyes go dim and clouded, her spark of life lost under Medea's will and Medea's wand and Medea's words and power.

And the only thing running through Medea's mind as her blood dripped from Chanalea's chin and mouth and teeth, ivory and cream contrasting with ruby red, was, _**I**__ did this to her. _

The ritual itself was the worst part. With Chanalea out under a Stupefy, she had been laid by Angelis in a circle of an Infinity symbol made with candles and salt. Medea stood in the other loop, tall and terrible with a paper of the memorized words in one hand, and the other held aloft with her wand which had been purified and dedicated for the ritual.

The incantation to bring the demon had come from _Medea'__s _throatand _Medea's _lipsand it was because of _her_ that Chanalea's body began to twitch and shudder as if she was in a seizure, coming dangerously close to knocking over the candles which would've resulted in the expiration of the spell.

_Medea_ was the reason that blood-curdling, God-awful shriek was echoing from her baby sister as Lilith, the very first vampire and the Queen of Demons, made her spirit known among them and nearly blew out the enchanted candles. She raged and raged but a small, tiny part of her was caught in Chanalea's part of the infinity symbol, and it wasn't until she swore an Unbreakable Vow to Medea's terms that a very small part of Lilith entered Chanalea, and the rest was allowed to escape under the condition to never seek revenge in any way for being forced to trap part of itself in Chanalea.

She couldn't bring herself to think of the pure _evil _in the room, the way Lilith had made her skin crawl and all her childhood nightmares surface, even the ones she'd forgotten.

And then the feeding, as under the Imperius, Chanalea's sharpened teeth latched onto Medea's bare waist and tore rabidly at the skin. Angelis was there, but his intrusion into the circle before the blood-sucking was completed would've terminated the entire endeavor. As Chanalea's heightened instincts were to rip Medea apart, the sight of her baby sister wildly attacking her with _joy_ was enough to make Medea's will, and thereby the Imperius, slip. But just barely, as the pain brought clarity and Medea jerked the Imperius back into place over Chanalea's mind.

The gaping wound Chanalea had inflicted wouldn't heal magically. Medea had had to numb it using Muggle anesthesia, and bring herself to stitch it as well.

That had been three days ago, and Medea could still feel that her drained magic was lethargic and exhausted. Most likely it was effecting her numbed spirit.

She couldn't sleep, either. For the past seventy-two hours, since the night before she'd summoned Lilith, Medea had been wide awake. She'd lay down, try to close her eyes to rest but feel Lilith's malignant spirit, she'd see Chanalea's face lit up with delight as her teeth ripped out a mouth-sized chunk of Medea's flesh.

_I did that to her. _On top of her crossed knees, Medea's up-turned hands clenched until the skin around the bottom of her palms crinkled and the tendons stood out.

She breathed in deeply, just to feel the shooting pain from her waist, just to feel something she could _control. _Something she _deserved._

Her mouth and nose were acidic and repulsive-tasting from all the times she'd thrown up over the past few days and she snapped her eyes shut, willing them to well just so she could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks instead of this emptiness.

_I could turn myself in. _

_I _should _turn myself it. _

_The scandal would hurt her worse than you have. At least this way, she doesn't know about it._

_But _I _have to. _

Another large breath, another searing blast of agony from her body and deep within her her beaten soul screamed mercilessly as well, yet not a flicker of that showed across her face.

_It should've been Angelis. He should've been the one to do it. It was _hisresponsibility_ not mine; he could've come to see her at school, even if in _secret_, or he could've gotten a teaching or a staff assignment at Salem. _Merlin, _oh_ Morgana,_ it should've been Angelis. Not me. Not me, not me, not me._

Lilith's revolting presence and Chanalea's blood-caked face flashed against her eyelids once more and she wailed inwardly, brokenly; without tears.

_I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry Chanalea._

* * *

The whole summer went by like that, just one mindless, enduring agony, and when Medea returned to Salem in the early fall Chrissy and Thomas didn't recognized her. Without being able to put it into words, their souls viscerally shuddered at the comparison of how she had been just a few months ago- vivacious and willful, with how she was now- listless and leaden.

The first night, Chrissy climbed into bed with her, shoved Morgan Morai away and curled up beside Medea underneath the covers. "What happened to you?" she whispered, knowing her friend was still awake. "Is there something you wanna tell me?"

_Yes, _Medea's spirit screamed. "No," she said quietly, but hugged Chrissy back more fiercely than she had when they had reunited that morning.

"You know I'm always there for you," Chrissy told her earnestly, rubbing Medea's back fondly. "You can tell me anything."

_You can never be. No, I can't. _"I know. Thank you."

She could resist confiding in Chrissy, her childhood best friend and companion, but when Thomas cornered her alone the next afternoon in the pegasus stables where she'd tried to find a refuge in something that had provided a haven _before_, Medea felt her throat choke strangely. She was so surprised to be _crying _that she forgot to find the will to halt the tears. Instead they spilled from her eyes, through her lashes, and traced salty tracks down her olive cheeks, to hang from her jawline like icicles.

"Medea," Thomas murmured, instinctively pulling her down from her place on the high hay bale and snugly into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, and she, hers in his cotton shirt.

The entire summer she hadn't been able to cry once, but in Thomas' embrace with the scent of hay and pegasus around them she wept like the ritual had been just yesterday.

"Medea, Medea," he asked, beginning to become alarmed, "what happened?"

Such a simple question... but his concern and his soft tone were more than she could bear in her guilty mind frame and the waterworks increased until she had to back away from him to be able to physically hold herself together.

"I c-can't tell y-you," she half-hiccuped half-sobbed, shuddering for breath with her wet face pressed into her damp, open palms. Her forearms dug into her chest and stomach to try and keep her sanity somehow, despite the fact her world had crumbled and she couldn't stop feeling, couldn't stop knowing, that it was because of her.

_I did it to her._

_I did it. _

She had trained herself to be what she liked to think of as a normally stoic, mysterious person and right now she lashed onto that mental facade like a leech to calm herself down. Slowly her breathing steadied and the salty tears stopped raining down her face and clogging her throat.

"Medea?" Thomas repeated again. His voice was soft and she knew if she brought her eyes from the floor and to them, she would see his pity. Guilt would sock her in her stomach and she knew if she was ever going to tell him, which she wanted to do so badly but didn't know how, she was going to have to tell him right now, or never be able to bring up the nerve. Thomas Carlton was someone she looked up to, someone who had helped her through her pegasus injury when all her other friends had forgotten her including her own damn boyfriend. Randomly, his attributes which she loved him for, yes, loved, ran through her mind- intelligent, caring, funny, thick hide, dedicated, mature, logical...

She couldn't lie to him, couldn't ask him to be friends with her unless he knew this. She _needed _him to know. Not for him, but for her, because it was all too much and she _needed him to know. _Needed his support, his understanding and sympathy and love.

Without even realizing what she was doing her mouth open and spilled between open fingers pressed against it to shut it up, "Chanalea's a squib and my parents are working for someone would kill her or all of us if he finds out so Angelis had me make her into an _Ars Magica Lamia."_

Time froze horribly as she felt Thomas' brain processing the words she hadn't been able to say in English.

"A magical _amor sanguinis," _he finally breathed, and when Medea looked up at him he was shocked, repulsed. She thought her heart would break when he took a step back.

_How could you ever expect different? _

"I'm sorry," Medea said, and it came out harshly. "I shouldn't have told you. There was nothing I could do, Thomas, she's my _sister."_

His hazel eyes narrowed tightly and anger started to splash across his features. "Merlin and _Morgana,_ Medea, does she even know what you've done to her? How you've _cursed _her? Being a squib is bad enough but a-" Medea clapped her hand over his mouth, her own temper rising.

"Don't say it," she hissed, suddenly furious at him for not understanding, for not being there when she needed him because it wasn't her fault and she was doing the best she could. "She can only feed from me and absorb magic because _I _did the sorcery. No one else will be hurt. You're a _half-blood,"_ Medea spat, and took her palm away from his face as if it contaminated her. "You could never understand. My whole family was on the _balance, _here, Thomas. Maybe you can't conceive that, maybe family isn't important to you because your divorced parents never saw fit to give you a sibling, but it's everything to me," Medea swore. "I couldn't not do this." Her gaze was helpless and her voice became a soft whisper, a plea to him to discern. "Not when it was Chanalea'slife."

He didn't say anything, just stared at her with a mixture of nausea, pity and numb paralysis.

She couldn't take it anymore, not when she knew she'd just lost him. Medea shuffled out of the pegasus stables, leaving him standing there, trying to piece this together to make sense. Right when she reached the door, she turned her head to say sadly, "She doesn't know, Thomas."

A long, heavy, pregnant pause. She couldn't bring herself to move, but when she did, she faintly heard, "I won't say anything. Not for you. For her."

Medea's mouth wouldn't work so she said in her mind, _"thank you. That's better than nothing."_

* * *

(Flashback over)

Some days were just down days. There wasn't a particular rhyme or reason to them, Medea considered as she ran a finger through Morgan's black mane, her familiar's feathery wings beating as she carried them above the clouds, above Hogwarts.

And as vain as she was, Morgan Morai understood when Medea needed her.

It was Saturday afternoon. Medea had woken up in the early hours of the morning from a nightmare that wasn't a nightmare so much as it was a memory: Thomas' reaction when Medea told him of Chanalea.

For the first time in months, a tear had slipped down Medea's cheek to wet her pillow. It was dark in the dorm and for once, the shadows pressed upon her, dampening her flame. She was strangely alert and could hear the other girls' soft breathing and the occasional snore; it had only served to make her feel even more alone.

So she'd plucked the upside-down bat-Morgan from her roost inside the elaborate green canopy, Transfigured her pajamas into toasty flannel sweats, stopped by the kitchens for some food and tiptoed through the deserted stone hallways while munching on croissants until she found her way to the Astronomy Tower. The wooden, splintery trapdoor was locked magically- but as she'd forgotten her wand and didn't feel up to wandless magic, a simple hairpin opened it the Muggle way.

The stars had still been out but a pale, almost rosy-golden flush was slowly creeping up the sky. Medea had held Morgan to her lips and respectfully asked for the familiar to morph into a pegasus and let her ride, her first ride since coming to Hogwarts.

Morgan Morai shuffled her leathery wings and shot Medea a "really, _now?"_ look, but jumped to a black dragon, then a black house-cat, to black Labrador, black panther, black horse, and finally- black pegasus (it was incredibly hard for Morgan to go from something as small as a bat to a huge creature like a pegasus, which were even bigger than draft horses, although built like Arabians).

Medea felt as content as if she was crawling into bed after a long day when she pulled/jumped underneath Morgan's left wing and onto her expansive, warm back.

Morgan had found a couple of drafts to lazily circle on, and the two girls just floated in the crisp, cool sky.

As the slight chill kept her alert and awake, Medea gave in to the urge to reminisce and thought of the time she had been in a similar place at Salem- alone on a Saturday morning, riding a pegasus, but this pegasus being Aleia as Morgan had been delivering. She'd fed Chanalea for the third time in three months, hadn't slept a wink that night as well as had started her period- in short, she was exhausted and crippled physically, mentally, and magically.

And on top of that she missed Thomas horribly, achingly, and agonizingly. Chrissy had no idea what was going on and repeatedly told off both parties, ("you're both miserable so make up and get over it!") and keeping a secret from her bothered Medea, but Chrissy could never know. Medea couldn't explain it, exactly, she just couldn't stand to see _Chrissy _look at her the way Thomas had. She hadn't spoken to him for _three damn months _and right then, she would've done anything to just hear him _yell_ at her.

When Medea finally was able to fall asleep on Aleia's back, she'd slipped off and Aleia just barely managed to save her neck from snapping on the 180 foot fall.

But Medea had knocked her head with a nasty crack. Because her magic was dangerously sapped, it didn't heal her. So when the Quidditch team had gone out to practice in the morning, Thomas was the one who spotted the disloyal pegasus indifferently grazing in the field; he was the one who reached the crumpled body first and took her to Mollie.

Medea'd had a cerebral hemorrhage, and had finally come out of her coma four days later. When Thomas came to visit her, she could see in his face only friendly concern, and none of the weary disdain of the past three months.

"Is it always going to take a pegasus injury for us to make up when I do something stupid or awful?" Medea had risked asking him, making them both chuckle.

"Or maybe, you just shouldn't send Morgan Morai out on errands," Thomas suggested, actually seeming kind of friendly. "You do seem to get hurt when she's gone."

And everything wasn't perfect, but they were talking again. And that was always something.

_I was so glad, _Medea thought to herself in present-day, _so happy he came back to me. Chrissy probably had something to do with it, of course. _

Medea and Morgan saw the sun rise and the moon disappear, spotted Hagrid on his rounds; she even peacefully dozed a little as the fall sun warmed her back.

They missed lunch as well as breakfast, saw the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practicing, (Slytherin was scheduled for that night) and a few seventh-years travel in a group to Hogsmeade. When she woke again, she hadn't even realized she'd been sleeping, or that clouds had gathered and were now pouring cats and dogs.

"Let's get inside!" Medea yelled at Morgan's ears, pointing to the Astronomy tower. The familiar-pegasus tucked her wings and dove for the turret, or at least Medea hoped it was the turret. But her trust in Morgan paid off when the black wings extended sharply and a couple of breaths later her solid hooves clattered on stone tower. Morgan morphed into a black Labrador and the two darted through the trapdoor and were back inside dry Hogwarts in a heartbeat.

"_Exaresco," _Medea muttered fiercely, and her robes and Morgan's fur were dry. She mentally chided herself for saying it instead of practicing her nonverbal spells, but she was cold and the charm was more effective if spoken. Besides, she got points for wandless magic, anyway. That was something they didn't do very well here in England.

Medea was so caught up getting to the kitchens to silence her growling intestines that as she turned a sharp corner rather quickly, she ran into someone.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry," she apologized, and looked up into the face of Theodore Nott. "Nott!" Medea exclaimed. "What are you doing up here?"

The startled look on his face faded into a wry grin that didn't reach his dark eyes. "Same thing you are, I guess," he parried, not exactly being horribly rude but not entirely interested in an in-depth conversation right now. But there was something about his eyes...he was hiding it, but...

"Well, sorry to run you over," she said affably again, figuring it was best to leave him alone as they weren't even on a first-name basis. Once in the kitchens with Morgan (who was chowing down on veal), Medea puzzled over what was up with Nott. He was always a bit on the extreme side of a loner so she couldn't claim to be intimately familiar with his expressions and behavior, but intuitively, she'd seen something...bruised, was that the right word? Bruised about him, about his air. Probably wouldn't have even noticed it, if she wasn't so explicably talented at hiding her own brokenness from people.

The unusually crowded Slytherin common room had an unusually somber atmosphere; some of the younger ones were even sniffling. Medea paused in the doorstep, instinctively glancing at Pansy for the answer. The dark-haired girl stood up and had Medea follow her to their dorm.

"What's going on?" Medea asked. "Why is everyone so upset? Did someone die?"

Pansy laughed harshly, her sharp nails digging into her own palms. "No. Remember when I told you about Draco's dad standing on trial? He and several other Slytherin parents were sentenced to Azkaban this morning. No Quidditch practice tonight."

_At a time like this, Quidditch is the first thing that comes to her mind?!_

Medea could feel the blood draining from her face. "Oh, shit," she whispered.

"Not my parents," Pansy clarified grimly.

"Are Theodore _Nott's_ parents some of them?"

Pansy's face snapped up to Medea's. "His mom died awhile ago. But his dad, yeah, he's in Azkaban, too. Why?"

"I bumped into him at the Astronomy tower," Medea explained. "Should we-?" She let her sentence dangle, knowing Pansy would interpret it.

"_You_ shouldn't," Pansy bit out, "but I should."

"I thought you didn't like him!" Medea said in genuine surprise, watching her friend stride across the room. As Pansy brushed by Medea, she said, "Haven't you ever had a friend you would kill _yourself_, but if anyone else touched them...?" This time Pansy let her sentence dangle.

"I guess," Medea admitted, thinking of the times she and Chrissy had fought.

A thought sprang to mind and she acted impulsively. "Wait," she called, darting out into the hallway after Pansy. "What about Draco?"

Barely pausing, Pansy said, "Leave him alone, Medea. Your family isn't involved, so don't try to go understanding and empathizing. You can't. Let us work out our shit by ourselves." It wasn't meant to be mean, it was a blunt fact and Medea could appreciate that- except she _could_ understand, and she could most _certainly_ empathize. Because she was certain she deserved to be in Azkaban just as much as anyone, if not more.

Draco's, Pansy's, Theodore's, Crabbe's and Goyle's and Daphne's parents, they were Death Eaters. All of them, they all worked for Voldemort and most of them had been caught and imprisoned.

The problem was, Medea wasn't exactly dumb. She could fit the puzzle pieces together. And while it had only become _recently_ clear to her, it was clear nonetheless. Voldemort sounded a lot like the reason why her parents had decided to move back to England; why Chanalea was a squib. It was the only answer that made sense.

Which meant her mother and her father were on a very distinct side of this British wizarding battle, and the problem was, she knew which side she should be on, which side she _was _on, but she wasn't sure that was the side she would fight for.

* * *

A/N Badummmmmpsh. Thank you to Ser Serendipity and before he exits; yall are truly fantastico.


End file.
